


Eventide

by fckyeahgallavich



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Better than Twilight is the goal, M/M, POV Mickey Milkovich, Twilight AU, Vampire AU, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2021-04-05
Packaged: 2021-04-25 16:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: So many thanks to my incredible Beta, Kiki, who helps me strive to be a better writer with each editing session.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 123
Kudos: 114





	1. The Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my incredible Beta, Kiki, who helps me strive to be a better writer with each editing session.

A social worker dropped him off at O’Hare International Airport — Mickey’s last moments in his hometown of Chicago. He couldn’t say it was a sad moment, but there was a tinge of _ something _close to sadness as he boarded the plane to Forks, Washington. The social worker tried to be casual about the whole ordeal, but in her attempt to do that she tried too hard and made it impossible for Mickey to ignore the urge to cringe.

He was adopted. At 17 years old. Who the fuck adopts a seventeen year old?

Mickey just hoped he wasn’t being sent to some sort of sweatshop or some shit disguised as an adoptive home. He’d had this family before as a foster home several of the numerous times growing up when Terry Milkovich got CPS involved in their shit. They were nice enough, but it’d been a few years since he’d seen them, and apparently he was only going to the dad of the family. The whole thing seemed sketchy as fuck, and yet the state of Illinois and this guy made some sort of arrangement and now this guy assumed legal responsibility over him.

So long as there was no hard labor involved, Mickey supposed it couldn’t be too bad.

Flying over the city of Chicago, Mickey said a silent, short list of goodbyes to himself. First, to his his sister Mandy who was scooped up by a different family who had fostered her before, and then to his his brothers Iggy and Jamie. And he didn’t forget to add a quick ‘fuck you’ to his old man as they flew over what he believed was Cook County Corrections.

He’d never even heard of Forks before the other week when he was informed that his new adoptive father was saving him from the level fourteen group home he was shoved into this last time Terry got arrested. But from what he’d been told it was cold, damp, and small.

So small that the town didn’t have its own airport, and so his new dad (which he would _ refuse _to call him, no matter what the fucker expected) was picking him up from the airport in Port Angeles and driving them the hour or so down to Forks.

Mickey rubbed absently at his brow, a nervous tick that allowed him to gulp in a giant breath of air to settle his uneasy stomach without people noticing so much. It was a gesture that suggested boredom rather than anxiety, and he preferred it that way.

The cringiest part of this whole fuckin thing was that he hadn’t even talked to the guy who adopted him. All information about the adoption and his move was handled through the social worker and Mickey just did whatever he had to do to get out of that group home. He’d miss his sister and brothers, he’d miss his shitty fuckin neighborhood, but he would not miss hustling and dodging gangs and police, and definitely wouldn’t miss answering to Terry Milkovich whether the man was locked up or breathing down his neck. Though he was nervous about this whole thing because it all seemed so… well, un-legit, if that could even be a word. He was ultimately more eager to get the fuck outta dodge and so was ready to do whatever it took to get there… Wherever the fuck “there” may be...

He had only one duffle bag of clothes to take with him to his new place, so he didn’t even bother with baggage claim, walking briskly to the exit where he was told his new adoptive father would be picking him up.

Indeed, amongst a few other people with signs reading passenger’s names, stood a tall white guy with a bushy brown mustache holding a sign that read “Mickey” in bold hand-written letters. He walked up to the slightly familiar face, anxiety roaring through his stomach trying to figure out how much had changed since the last time he’d been in this guy’s custody.

“Hey, bud!” The guy greeted a little too brightly.

“Uhh, hey,” Mickey replied simply. “Charlie, right?” 

“Yeah,” he replied as easily.

“Uh, good to see you again?” Mickey said awkwardly.

“Yeah, yeah!” 

They stared at each other an awkward moment before Charlie finally gestured for them to turn around and get to the car. Approaching the cop car, Mickey realized aloud, “Oh, right. You’re still a cop…. Thought there may’ve been a career change in with the move.” Charlie smirked as he unlocked the cruiser.

“No, Mickey, that seems to be the one constant in my life.” Mickey worked to school his expression, knowing that judgement and annoyance was surely burning behind his eyes. He opened the passenger door with a tattooed hand and remembered when he’d gotten a lecture about their message: Fuck U-Up. Needless to say, Charlie and Renee Swan hadn’t cared for Mickey’s choice of ink when he’d showed back up on their doorstep at thirteen with a threat scrawled across his fingers. Renee had even cried about it as though it meant the kid had killed.

Charlie’s eye caught the ink on his knuckles as he buckled his seatbelt and he looked away with a barely audible huff of disappointment.

“Still have those tattoos I see,” Charlie remarked as he started the car. Mickey examined his tattoos.

“Um, yeah. That’s kind of the thing about tattoos… They’re permanent.” Mickey tried to reign in his sarcasm and snark since he was dealing with a cop, but what the fuck kind of dumbass comment was that? Out of the corner of his eye Mickey saw Charlie shrug.

“Could’ve faded,” he defended. Whatever. Just wanted to not feel like a total dumbass. Mickey decided to say nothing and Charlie drove in silence. Thirty minutes into the hour long drive, he finally spoke up again. “There’s not public transportation around Forks like there is in Chicago.” Mickey turned to face his guardian.

“Guess I should’ve expected that,” Mickey grumbled, returning his attention to the passenger window.

“Yeah, I know you’re used to the El and buses but the public transportation system isn’t quite what it could be — definitely not what you’re used to.”

“So… I’m walking everywhere when a bus won’t work?” Mickey guessed.

“No, actually! I was able to get a good deal on a car for you.” Mickey’s whole body flashed to face Charlie, at least as much as could be allowed in the seat.

“A car?!” Mickey couldn’t hold in his shock. As uncomfortable as he was being around a damn near complete stranger, he was still grateful to the guy for getting him out of that awful group home. What more did he really need from the guy? He was already giving him free room and board as far as he knew and now a car?

“A truck actually. A Chevy, fixed up by a buddy of mine’s son down at La Push.”

_ La Push? _Jesus, what was it with the North Westerners with their weird ass town names?

“Um, thanks. I really appreciate it. Y’know I really don’t have any cash or anything so I can’t pay you back or cover insurance or anything,”

“Don’t worry about that for now. Just, get adjusted and I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to get a part-time job. Until then, just work on making yourself comfortable.”

This was all so foreign to Mickey — someone doing something nice for him without expecting the favor to be repaid. . He also got the sense that Charlie was trying to make a deal with Mickey: He’d be generous and do what he could to give Mickey a happy home so long as Mickey behaved. They’d been down this road before back when he and Renee were still married and fostering together. Mickey was loyal to his dad to a fault and in those days specifically Mickey had no intention of stopping his routine. Charlie had tried to crack the whip and at every turn Mickey defied him — one of multiple reasons the name Charlie Swan had shocked him when he was informed that he was being legally adopted out of the system. Back then, Charlie finally learned to handle him — like a normal person capable of intelligent thought and good choices, Terry Milkovich be damned. And though Mickey hated being some shrink’s textbook case of something or other, he did respond well to Charlie treating him with that kind of trust and respect. And Mickey fully expected that method to continue working considering he was already cringing at the thought of doing anything to let Charlie down.

The silence got uncomfortable in a hurry so, after thrumming an unspecified beat against his knee with his fingertips, Mickey decided to inquire about his welcome-to-the-family gift.

“So, uh, Chevy?” Charlie nodded, a slight smile perking on one side. “What year is it?” Charlie visibly winced as though he’d hoped Mickey wouldn’t ask.

“Well, a lot of work’s been done on it, but it’s a decent number of years past what we’d call ‘its prime.’” Mickey’s brows furrowed and he shot a look at Charlie.

“Like… decades?” Charlie turned on his turn signal and exited for Forks.

“Yeeeah…. It’s early sixties. But, I promise, the thing runs great!” Mickey’s brows shot up in disbelief.

“Well, I sure as fuck hope so, ‘cus I won’t know how to fix it.” Charlie chuckled lightly.

“I’m sure Billy’s boy’ll be happy to pitch in if it needs something more than maintenance. Other’n that I’m sure you and I can figure it out!” Mickey turned his look of sarcastic disbelief away from the police chief, certain he was already pushing his luck with the cursing a moment ago. 

Heading into Forks, Mickey was struck by how _ green _everything was. He’d been prepared for more foliage, extra trees… like one giant park. But that didn’t even cover it. This was unlike anything Mickey’d ever seen before. The general surroundings were so green that not even the sidewalks looked completely grey or beige, almost like the leaves and grass were reflecting off the pavement to give it a more Earthly hue.

“There might be some culture shock at first. I know it’s weird going from such a major city, and such a rough part of that major city, to such a small town.”

Small was an _ understatement! _ They’d been in Forks city limits for about twenty minutes and Mickey had seen _ maybe _a dozen people out and about at four PM on a Tuesday! By this point in Chicago, rush hour was already under way and the El was probably on its way to a delay as well.

He supposed the area was pretty, but it was still weird. No building was above three stories high here, and he was probably being generous in assuming one of them was _ that _high. Still, it was quiet and maybe he could finally relax for once.

But with time to relax would eventually come boredom, and that was what Mickey dreaded the most. The kids in this town probably grew up together since diapers. How was he supposed to get to know anybody? Granted, he didn’t really care to, but… Hey, even a Milkovich needed someone to talk to. But considering a cellphone was on the list of things Mickey wouldn’t get unless it was gifted to him, the only chance he stood of talking to his sister or brothers again was if Charlie ended up being one of those weirdos who still paid for a landline. 

Mickey’s leg started bouncing in agitation, and yes anxiety, at the thought of how long it’d probably be before he heard from his siblings. The back of his neck prickled at the thought of just how _ alone _he was going to be. This was something he hadn’t even considered over this whole process. He’d just heard “away from Chicago,” which translated to “away from Terry Milkovich,” and did whatever he had to do to make this happen. He knew his sister was about to lead a happy life, and he knew that his brothers could do no more than he could do to help bust him out of the group home without a social worker hunting him down.

Charlie and Mickey pulled up to a decently sized two story house about twenty minutes later.Mickey took his time to examine the small yard, the tall trees, the plentiful grass and the ivy snaking up the side of the porch beams.

He’d heard the word ‘quaint’ somewhere before and for some reason, the word seemed to fit though he couldn’t recall precisely what it meant.

“What do you think?” Charlie asked in a murmur. Mickey flicked his eyes to the police chief for a quick second before returning his gaze to the porch and wide windows looking into what was probably the living room.

“Looks nice… Comfortable,” Mickey finally replied. Charlie gave him a half smile.

“Yeah, it is. I hope you feel the same about the inside.” Mickey sucked in a quick settling breath and exited the car, reaching to the floorboard for the duffle he’d stashed at his feet during the car ride.

In the driveway, Mickey noticed a dulled red truck that _ definitely _ screamed ** _‘60s! _ **

He stopped in his tracks to take a look at the thing in interest. Charlie turned when he noticed Mickey wasn’t following.

“Ah, yep, there it is!” Charlie beamed proudly. Mickey scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“There it is…” he murmured. “And you’re sure it runs?” He asked after an awkward pause.

“Definitely. Billy and his boy Jacob dropped it off and I took it to fill up. You know how to drive a clutch right?”

Mickey turned to face him, brow arched. Where the fuck did this guy think Mickey would learn to drive a fuckin clutch?!

“I’ll teach you,” Charlie murmured awkwardly and continued into the house. Mickey huffed an irritated sigh and followed.

The place was a total bachelor pad, much to Mickey’s pleasant surprise. Leather sofa and worn-in LaZBoy recliner settled in the center of the living room with simple lamps on either end of the furniture, a case of movies — a feature Mickey’d have to check out later — directly adjacent to a huge TV — had to be at least 50 inch — and a mantle with ample selection of bourbons and scotches greeted Mickey on his right. To the left, a simple kitchen with a small dining table off to the side, almost like a nook, was lit bright from sun streaming in through large windows.

“Your room’s up the stairs, last door on the right. Sorry we’ll be neighbors, I never really expected to… well, do this!” He laughed awkwardly. Mickey’s brow arched, a sarcastic comment circling in his chest which he refused to satisfy by voicing. The way Charlie said that though, it made Mickey feel like he was an impulse-buy item, and it felt… gross.

He tossed the duffle over his shoulder and hiked up the stairs to his new room, relieved to find the space was neutral in every sense of the word. The walls were painted a light tan slightly darker than beige and on the bed Charlie had provided a navy duvet that looked so comfortable, soft, and warm, Mickey was tempted to go ahead and burrow under for a minute or two. Instead, he opted to lay his bag on the bed, try out the small lamp on the pressed wood side table, and take in the rest of his room. A matching desk sat directly in front of a decently sized window which Charlie had generously covered with a sheer black curtain, a matching curtain covered the window by his bed too. He rubbed at the back of his neck again and bit his lip as he fought a yawn. He wasn’t even tired, it was just as though his body was already screaming at him “BOREDOM CENTRAL! FIND EXCITEMENT!”

Mickey chose to go ahead and place his clothes in the small closet directly behind the bedroom door and the short stack dresser at the foot of the bed. He knew he’d have to figure out a way of acquiring heavier apparel. For now he had four thermal tee-shirts, a week’s worth of jeans, an assortment of tee-shirts he’d collected for the past several years, most of them with the sleeves cut off and small holes scattered through the fabric, and the winter coat he’d carried over his arm. So far, the Washington climate wasn’t too brisk, but he’d been warned that winters were going to be brutal, though Mickey was confident he could handle it since he’d grown up in the windy city.

He took one more sweeping glance at the room and grimaced, rubbing aggravatedly at his forehead with his knuckles. Everything surrounding him was just… alien. Nothing was his, he owned nothing and was completely at the mercy of Charlie Swan. He knew it wasn’t like that, and that he was supposed to be this guy’s child but… how did that work with a seventeen year old? Mickey was practically an adult as it was and was fixed in his fucked-up ways. Hell, did Charlie even know all of the raps he’d beat back in Chicago? Mickey had faced a state judge three times and barely evaded juvie each time. 

He huffed a breath and folded up his empty duffle bag into a neat square. The fact was he was here. And though the hardest part of this whole thing was going to be leaving his past self behind, the thing was that he _ got _to, was allowed to. With all of the shit he was forced into and all of the shit he willingly got himself into, Mickey never had the chance to actually think about who he precisely was.

Since childhood, he’d been Terry Milkovich’s boy — the perfect ingenue who would take over the family business with the Ukrainian mafia. And even though he’d never wanted that life, he’d accepted it because he knew that at the end of the day he had no choice.

But _ now _he had a choice! And the choices are what freaked him out so badly. How could you pick a direction when the only direction you’d ever known was the only one completely unavailable to you?

He tucked the duffle bag under the bed, and returned downstairs to get some shit straightened out with his new guardian. 

The stairs were sturdy, but his heavy steps still thundered as he descended them. Charlie didn’t say anything, but Mickey made a mental bet with himself on how many times he could descend the stairs like that before Charlie demanded he slow it down — two weeks max before the hardass cop took over and started acting like a “dad.”

The guy pulled out a beer for himself and Mickey was almost irritated that he didn’t pull a second one out for him until he remembered where he was. 

Living with a cop… This was going to be fuckin tricky. Before this, being in group homes was the most amount of time Mickey spent without booze, and though he wasn’t an addict or anything, there was no denying that it was a habit for him to grab a cold one to settle with most nights. That was one thing Mickey definitely couldn’t do until he either got bored enough or comfortable enough to yank some beer from a convenience store somewhere. In the meantime, Charlie asked if he wanted a Coke or water, to which Mickey replied, “whatever.”

Charlie passed him a cold can of Coca-Cola, which Mickey chose to imagine was laced with some Jack.

“All settled in?” Charlie asked. Mickey shrugged.

“Don’t really have much to settle.” Charlie sighed and sat at the head of the table.

“Mickey… let’s talk.” Mickey nodded and joined him at the table, taking a healthy sip of his soda as Charlie took a gulp of beer. “I want you to be comfortable here. I know you came from… well, some _ shit. _I know!”

“Do you?” Mickey challenged, brows raised defiantly.

“I do. I know more about you than you think. Your dad had you doing some shady shit back in Chicago and he started you out young. But I also know who you are when you aren’t around him. You’re different. You _ want _to do better than your old man, I’ve seen it. And I think you can do that here in Forks. There are great kids here, kids who have fun and enjoy being young without causing trouble. And there’s no need for you to do what you were forced to, or what you learned to do, for the sake of survival. None of that is necessary anymore.”

Mickey licked his bottom lip to smooth the dried skin before biting down — another anxious tic.

“The community knows you’re coming,” he continued. Mickey released a dark chuckle.

“Great. Lock up the houses for the first time in thirty years, the hoodrat’s comin’ to town,” Mickey mocked. Charlie’s expression remained serious and open.

“I get it. I do.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Chief Swan, but I really don’t see how that’s possible.” Charlie sat back in his chair and nodded gravely.

“Your school’s small, like the rest of the town. Only three hundred and fifty-eight students now, including you. It’s going to be a huge adjustment for you but I want you to trust me enough to come to me with this process. A’right?” Mickey wanted to mock him again, but the sincerity in his eyes cut Mickey short. “Do your best to keep your nose clean here… Catch up on your schoolwork. Apply yourself like you couldn’t before. That’s why I did this... because I never forgot you. Why do you think Renee and I got you _ three _times?”

“‘Cuz Cook County’s got lazy fucks for social workers and wanted to stick me with someone who wouldn’t bitch about the Milkovich kid.”

Charlie, despite himself, laughed at that and scratched the back of his head, brows raising as though saying ‘touche.’

“Well… It’s also because Renee and I really liked havin’ you around and you don’t deserve the cards you were dealt… And I want to help you get somewhere in your life.”

It was so fuckin corny… and yet Mickey’s hard exterior softened a little bit at the level of sincerity. School was always a joke to the Milkoviches. Why fuck with reading, writing, and arithmetic when their society was consciously doing everything it could to keep the bottomfeeders like them down no matter what they did? Terry Milkovich taught his kids to take from the ones who took from them and to work to keep them from getting anything in the first place. It was a philosophy that seemed to work pretty well for them…

But maybe not.

“Don’t expect me to go callin you Dad or nothin… I already got one. He’s a piece of shit, but he’s mine,” Mickey replied decidedly.

“That’s fine,” Charlie promised easily. Mickey nodded and after a long, awkward pause, stood from the table to go gander at the movie selection. He didn’t see anything familiar in the collection… No Seagal, no Van Damme, not even Stalone! 

He heard the oven click on, then the approaching steps of his new guardian.

“Ever see the Matrix movies?” Charlie asked behind him. Mickey turned to face him and shook his head. “Classics! C’mon, there’s a whole trilogy if you like the first one.”

Mickey sank deep into the sofa, drinking his Coke and watching the movie… Enjoying it so thoroughly that when Charlie asked if he wanted to continue the trilogy Mickey shrugged in agreement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just sacked out on a sofa and did nothing… But even if he had done it before, it certainly didn’t feel this relaxing. 

Mickey was wary of how quickly he was settling in already. Something wasn’t right here… This just… it wasn’t him! He was a fuck up, he was born and bred to be what he was. Milkoviches didn’t just have impromptu movie nights (especially not sober). In his family, a night in involved wrapping or bagging product, filing serial numbers off various weapons… maybe a Seagal movie in the background to their own party with copious vodka and coke (the _ real _coke, not this over-sugared soft drink in his hand).

Once the movie was over, they sat down at the dining room table to eat dinner and they discussed the film. Though the broiled steak was delicious and the conversation was good, this whole thing felt false somehow, like Mickey was putting on an act.

This was all a sham. And Mickey knew it. 

Even as Charlie wrote down instructions for how to work a stick shift, which he promised would be easy from this truck because it was so old it was only a three gear, and tried to hype up Forks High again, Mickey couldn’t escape feeling like a stranger in some benefactor’s house. For now, that’s exactly what it felt like, probably because that’s exactly what it was. As Mickey sank into the strange mattress of a bed that wasn’t his, Mickey realized he really didn’t know how he was going to live up to these _ new _ expectations. This first day of his new life was nice, it really was. But it also wasn’t him. Then the crushing realization occurred to him that... No matter where he was, someone was always going to try forcing him to act a certain way, _ be _a certain way. It was a shitty fucking feeling, even enveloped in the warmth of downy covers and smooth, fresh sheets on the softest mattress he’d ever lain in.


	2. First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my beta reader, Kiki <3

He had to give the ol’ man one thing… He picked out a damn good mattress and duvet. Mickey hadn’t slept so well in…. God, ever. He stretched deep and long, stretching out as far as he could before cramping up under the downy cover and sucked in the slightly chilled morning air.

In Chicago he usually slept in boxers, but in Forks it appeared he would have to keep a thermal tee-shirt close by, if not wear it to bed. The floor was frigid against his bare foot and Mickey almost rolled back under the cover — but then he remembered the quasi-promise he made to Charlie last night that he’d do his best to do the things he was supposed to do. Unfortunately for Mickey, getting up from the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in and getting his ass to school was one of those things. 

He cursed under his breath and crossed as quickly as possible to the closet to rip a thermal tee off the hanger and pull a pair of jeans up over his goose-flesh covered legs. Warmth settled over him pretty quickly, but he still trembled as he made his way to the bathroom to get a start on the day.

“Mickey?” Charlie called from downstairs. Mickey rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself, pulling the toothbrush, poised right outside of his open mouth, away to call down an answer. “You sure you know where you’re going?” His guardian called in response. The night prior, Charlie had provided a map of Forks, plus verbal and written instructions on how to work the stick shift and how to get to the high school. 

“I’m sure I can figure it… out,” Mickey had to censor “the fuck” out of that sentence, not wanting to cause any issues on their first official day together. But seriously, if Charlie was planning on breathing down his neck like this the whole fuckin stay until his eighteenth birthday, they were going to need to have some sort of conversation. Mickey had learned to navigate the Chicago public transportation system _ by himself _ by the time he was fuckin _ eleven _years old. By thirteen, Terry had him picking up all kinds of shit from neighboring chapters of the Ukrainian mob, a job that required a solid and thorough knowledge of the turf. Basically, Mickey Milkovich knew how to fucking navigate. Now he had a truck and a fuckin map with only a ten mile radius in which to find his intended mark. To say he was unconcerned was an understatement.

Charlie called up to him to have a good day, which Mickey grunted a terse response to; and suddenly, Mickey was alone.

He didn’t want to be early to school… But he also didn’t really feel like staying in this strange place by himself either. He’d have plenty of time to explore his new environment in the coming months, he really didn’t feel the need to familiarize himself with the house in a hurry — if only so he’d have something to do when he was bored later from having absolutely nothing to do.

After a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice (from a glass so he didn’t start off his stay stepping on toes), Mickey grabbed Charlie’s excessively thorough instructions, his heavy jacket and keyring, and headed out the door.

Thick fog surrounded him, sending shivers down his spine. They got fog in Chicago, sure, but _ this _was unlike anything he’d ever experienced even when he ventured closer to Lake Michigan. It was also drizzling a sharp, stinging kind of rain. Because… You know, the fog wasn’t unpleasant enough, Mickey also had to navigate his way to school through rain.

His weight sank him into the hyper-saturated grass as he crossed the yard to the truck — it was definitely one of the more unsettling terrains he’d walked on in his life… He’d not been to the beach before, but if the sands of Lake Michigan were anything to go by, Mickey would have to say that the only thing more uncomfortable to walk on than loose sand was this marshy-ass grass. He huffed in irritation as he jerked open the driver’s door and climbed into the cab. It was oddly warm in the truck despite the chilly morning air outside. Cranking the engine to life, though, sent an unfortunate stench into the cab, revealing just how long it’d been since this truck had been used.

“Ga—— Fuck!” Mickey groaned, jerking the A/C off and closing all of the vents. He let the thing rumble and pitch its fit for a good five minutes, reviewing the instructions Charlie wrote out. It wasn’t like this transmission was a _ real _stick like in the trucks of today. This shit wasn’t exactly rocket science, and Mickey couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he easily maneuvered the truck out of the driveway, seamlessly switching it into first gear and making his merry way to school. 

The thing started hiccuping as he approached 55 miles per hour, which would probably be a perk to Officer Swan, Mickey thought sardonically as he eased off the accelerator, returning to the 35 mile per hour speed limit.

The sign to the school was so small and subtle that Mickey did almost miss it, nearly mistaking it for a small income-based housing community like back at home, but he was able to slow down in time to safely cut into the property.

He turned into the first parking spot he could find beside one of the red brick buildings and examined the place in confusion.

He was only fifteen minutes early… so where were the administrators, the custodial staff? And what kind of school didn’t have metal detectors or at least one resource officer milling around the front doors?

Small town schools were weird, Mickey decided as he stepped out of the truck, not even bothering to lock it.

He found his way to the front office easily enough, simply following the signs. The office was warm, in temperature and in ambiance from the lighting; but the lighting was all that was nice about it. The furniture was all tacky folding chairs and pressed wood end tables. His eyes followed the orange-flecked carpet to the front desk, which was literally a large oak desk, and took brief notice of a few plaques hanging beside or resting on the desk. A plump woman with big, curly red hair was tending to some large plant (the word ‘fern’ came to Mickey’s mind) resting beside three wire baskets filled with papers.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Mickey Milkovich," he informed her, brow arching in shock at her instant recognition. Charlie had warned that he’d told people… he didn’t realize he’d practically be a celebrity.

"Yes, of course! Welcome!" she gushed. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She lay each paper out carefully and was entirely too helpful, highlighting room numbers and color coding the highlights to match to the corresponding building… as though Mickey were a fuckin simpleton or child.

“And of course if you have _ any _ questions you may return here at any time through the day to ask, Mikhailo!” She said it like “Mikhail,” the Russian version of Michael but with an -o at the end. But he didn’t really feel like correcting her pronunciation when he planned to go by Mickey, the name he _ always _ went by. “We also have a very friendly student body here so you may also just ask your classmates and I’m sure you’ll have a _ bunch _of offers to show you around!”

_ Goody _, he thought irritably.

“Thanks,” he replied simply.

“Have a wonderful first day, Mikhailo!” She called after him exuberantly. He barely turned back around to correct her, “Mickey!” He saw her face fall but didn’t stick around to hear any apology from her nor give one for his rudeness.

Though there was a decent amount of time before his first class, Mickey plunged into the drizzle outside and wandered around the campus until he finally located building Three. He even crumpled up the map the woman had given him because… what was the point? He could walk around the whole campus four times and never lose sight of the first building with the main office in it!

As the first of his classmates arrived, Mickey realized that he was standing out a little bit… as the only student without an actual rain jacket. But it wasn’t even raining! It was only a drizzle, but there everyone was wearing a full-on parka. Everyone here must panic over the smallest shit — be the same people who ran out for milk and bread whenever they saw a flurry.

Forks folks must be fuckin’ _ soft _, Mickey scoffed to himself.

He lightly shook the small drops of water from his hair as he entered the building and found the correct classroom number for his English class.

The classroom was small. The people in front of him stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks and, impatient, Mickey groaned irritably and darted around them to find an empty seat in the back. 

At the top of the hour, the teacher who introduced himself to Mickey as Mr. Mason excitedly asked for “Mick-hail-eyo” to stand up and introduce himself. Mickey rolled his eyes behind closed lids but stood up just to get it over with.

“You can call me Mickey. Moved here from Chicago,” he looked to the teacher with an arched brow, not sure where to go from there. The teacher simply smiled warmly at him and waited patiently, clearly not catching the hint. “Happy to be here,” he added curtly, using a clipped tone that he knew would gain him no friends… But then again, he wasn’t exactly looking for friends at the moment.

“Oh, uh… thank you, Mickey,” Mr. Mason bumbled out awkwardly after Mickey sat down. “We are so happy to have you here too.” He made his way to the back of the classroom to pass Mickey a small folder, which, upon opening it, Mickey realized it was the reading list and assignment list. 

He was transferring in just before midterms, and with his horrible grades at school, he was truly wondering how he was going to graduate on time. That _ was _something he wanted to care about. But these names… Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner… He recognized two of the names as some of the hardest authors to read. He was already going to stick out as the new kid and from external signs of his different upbringing, he didn’t want to add ‘tutoring charity case’ to the list of things that made him different.

It seemed they had already finished Chaucer (thank GOD) and were moving on to Shakespeare. Mickey grunted in distaste and sank in his chair. He’d never read a Shakespeare play before, seen a show, never even heard anything about his works besides the ‘star-crossed lovers’ bullshit of that straight couple play, whatever the fuck it was called.

Oh, _ Romeo and Juliet… _That’s what it was called, Mickey realized as Mr. Mason started describing the exact plot that he was thinking of. Well… At least he’d finally get the chance to see what all the fuss was about…

Still, as the teacher droned on about the prologue to the story, explaining how the entire plot is spelled out in the damn thing, Mickey found himself getting more and more annoyed by the melodrama.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, Mickey released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and relaxed his tense shoulders and fists. He couldn’t even tell why he was so agitated, but his head already felt full from this one class.

Just as he was about to cross the threshold to look for his next class, a gangly looking kid, your typical ‘all limbs’ kind of awkward nerdy guy, tapped Mickey on the shoulder to get his attention. Mickey forced his way through the crowd of kids at the door anyway, not needing to grab a coat unlike all of the rest, and turned to face the kid a safe distance from the door.

“You’re Mikhailo Milkovich, right?” the kid asked.

“Mickey,” he corrected.

“Oh, that’s right you said that,” he laughed nervously. Mickey’s eyes flicked to the closest exit, not particularly caring to continue this awkward exchange any longer than necessary. “Well, did I pronounce your full name correctly?”

“Not even close,” Mickey replied easily. “Excuse me.” He slipped away, but the kid simply pulled up beside him, and with his stride significantly longer than Mickey’s he was able to keep up without any struggle. Mickey concealed another eyeroll — a gesture he was certain he’d become all too familiar with.

“How do you pronounce it?” he asked.

“Mickey,” Mickey responded tersely.

“Oh… You like the nickname, got it! Okay!” This guy was _ way _ too cheerful at nine a.m. for Mickey’s taste. “I get it, I go by Eric but my parents _ freak _if they hear someone call me anything other than Eunsuh!” He laughed. Mickey tilted a brow at him.

“Chinese?” Mickey guessed.

“Korean,” Eric corrected.

“Huh.” Well… that was one thing in common with someone. And it went deeper than favorite color or fruit snack flavor like it did in elementary school… Score.

“So, what’s your next class?” Eric asked. Mickey groaned and stopped over by a set of lockers to unfold his schedule.

“Government with Jefferson in building six,” Mickey answered. When he looked back up he found what felt like a dozen eyes staring at him in the hallway — well, not at him, to be fair… his tattoos. “Can I _ help _you?” Mickey demanded of the gawkers who scattered instantly. Eric’s eyes and set of his mouth held sympathy. Was… was that why he went to talk to him?! Because He knew Mickey wouldn’t be received well with his appearance?

Fuck. That.

Mickey took off and exited the building, venturing in the direction that he was pretty sure would logically lead him to the next building.

Eric, the puppy, followed loyally and eagerly.

"I'm headed toward building Four, I could show you the way!” Mickey halted once again and turned to face the kind face. He examined him for a second and rubbed absently at his bottom lip, a nervous tic of his when he fought for the correct words.

“I think I got it, but if you wanna walk with me ‘til you get to your building I don’t give a shit.” Eric beamed, nodded, and took off with Mickey by his side.

“So this is a lot different than Chicago, huh?” he asked.

“Uh.. Yeah,” Mickey replied shortly, not knowing how to be any more polite with such a stupid fuckin question. Were all small-town folk this insightful?

“Does it rain a lot there? I know there’s a _ lot _of snow in the winter, but I don’t know about the rest of the year, you know?”

“It… rains,” Mickey replied like the kid was challenged. Because seriously, what the fuck kind of question was that?

“Is it really as windy as it’s known for?” he laughed at his own joke… Dork.

“Never really noticed,” Mickey replied easily.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” 

As they walked, Eric pointed out the gym and then the cafeteria so Mickey wouldn’t have issues finding it later. Mickey thanked him and they separated for buildings four and six.

“Good luck!” Eric called. “Hey, and maybe we’ll have some other classes together!” He called hopefully. Mickey raised a brow, a silent signal that the other guy needed to cool it. Eric just laughed, shook his head, and turned to face his building as Mickey continued on to his own.

Each class from then until lunch was much the same. He made his way to sit as far back in the classroom as possible, but each time the teacher located his new face, asked him to stand and introduce himself, and they all insisted on trying to call him by his legal name until he insisted that his name was Mickey. 

Just. Mickey.

He started recognizing multiple faces by his third class, one girl in particular sat next to him in algebra and Spanish. She introduced herself after Mr. Varner’s forced introduction in math and continued to talk to him at any available moment in Spanish. She seemed nice enough, though the flirting was getting on his nerves pretty quickly.

She walked with him to the cafeteria where Eric was also eagerly awaiting him. It turned out that they were decent friends as well and he somehow got pulled along to sitting with the girl’s friends at lunch. Though he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal he also couldn’t help but snarkily think to himself, _ Great, four hours into the school day and I’m already in an inner-circle... _It sure beat being alone since he didn’t have anything to entertain himself with for the time being, but it still felt like he was being adopted by the locals just as much as he was adopted by Chief Swan. 

As they marched at a turtle’s pace through the lunch line, Jessica and Eric babbled on about their own situations, for once not bothering Mickey about anything personal or for his opinion of anything Forks related. He didn’t even try to retain any new names at the table, though the faces stuck in his mind if only because he’d already seen a number of them in the halls or had a class with them already. 

Eric plopped down across from Mickey and Jessica asserted her place directly beside him. This whole situation was progressively more and more strange and more and more uncomfortable for Mickey.

Back in Chicago Mickey couldn’t have told the difference between a newcomer and a lifer if he fucking wanted to — not just because he didn’t give a shit but also because the school was so huge and brought together so many neighborhoods that it was impossible to keep everyone straight. But here everyone knew that he was new and seemed to know something about him — like that he came from Chicago from a rough neighborhood, that Police Chief Swan adopted him because he fostered him before. It was almost like all of these students had been ordered to look past his knuckle tattoos that spelled a direct threat in order to give this poor south side boy a chance at a fresh start or some bullshit like that.

After so long of being dragged into forced conversations — the kids really wanted to make him feel like he’d been here his whole life for some stupid fucking reason that he couldn’t figure — Mickey had to turn his attention elsewhere. And that was when he first saw _ them. _

In the corner of the cafeteria, these kids clearly tried to keep a low profile. None of them really looked at anyone other than another member of their group, and even so they all seemed to be off in their own little worlds. 

It was a weird, but a relieving shift of pace from the entire student body gawking at him all day.

He found himself completely transfixed by one of the five kids in particular, a redhead with hauntingly dark eyes. He was tall, Mickey could tell even with the guy sitting down. He had to sit with his legs sticking straight out and they were easily as long as the entire upper half of his body, perfectly symmetrical. 

The others were beautiful too, hair shades varying from dark to light brown with one other redhead in the mix and even a black kid who looked a little young for high school… Must’ve skipped a couple of grades. Their level of attractiveness was all that they visually had in common, well, that and how it looked like they had never stepped out in sunlight before a day in their lives. They each sported shadows under their eyes… What was the probability of all five out of a group of five people suffering from insomnia without it being an insomniac support group?

The smallest girl rose with her tray, an unopened soda and unbitten apple resting perfectly in the center of the slab of plastic, and glided to the trash to dump her tray before sliding gracefully through the back door, so fast his brain almost was convinced he’d imagined it. But the redhead girl was gone from the table, the rest of the kids continuing to stare off, lost in their own little world.

“I see you’ve noticed the Gallaghers,” Jessica sing-songed.

Mickey turned to meet her eye and shrugged. He suppose he had…

“Gorgeous aren’t they?” She continued, tone getting just the slightest bit clipped. Mickey shrugged again and turned to look at them again.

He, the redhead guy, looked at Jessica for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to Mickey’s. He looked away quickly, more quickly than Mickey could quite catch, though in a flush of embarrassment he whipped his focus back to the kids at the table. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest — it was as if Jessica had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

Jessica giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like Mickey did. The rest of the kids at the table were now clued into the event and the girls laughed but the guys groaned in irritation.

“With the Gallaghers _ again, _Jess?” A blonde kid asked in disgust.

"Oh, you hush!” Jessica demanded flippantly, not even looking at the kid. She turned to Mickey and reached for his shoulder, which he smoothly dodged by readjusting in his chair to turn his back to the Gallagher table. “That's Ian, Lip, Liam, and Carl Gallagher. The one who left was Debbie Gallagher; they all live together with Dr. Gallagher and her parents." She said this in one breath, as though they were her favorite subject. Which, maybe they were...

Mickey fought to not turn around again, knowing he needed to keep his eyes to himself and quit staring… He just… Had a thing for redheads.

He took a chance and glanced around one more time to see the redhead guy picking at his food, but making no move to eat. His mouth was moving very quickly, his oddly, but beautifully shaped lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet it appeared he was speaking quietly to them.

“They’re all adopted,” Jessica added under her breath.

“Jesus, Jess! Is it _ your _place to tell anyone else their business like that?” Mike demanded irritably.

“Well, they _ are!” _she challenged. Mike rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the club sandwich in front of him.

So that’s another thing he and those kids had in common… This was a thought Eric was so kind to introduce, which Mickey (and half of the table) glared at him for.

“Oh shit was that insensitive to say?” Eric cried, aghast at himself. Mickey just resumed his cold look and averted his attention back to his own lunch.

“It’s nice of them to take on so many kids,” a tawny skinned girl adjacent to Mike offered. “Especially teenagers. Though I guess since most of them are practically adults they’re all like roommates by now,” she laughed. Mickey shrugged, accepting that last bit because he was certain that was how he and Charlie would interact during his stay.

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and Mickey knew this bitch had an issue with the Gallaghers that went deeper than some petty jealousy.

Or… Maybe she really was just that petty. This was exactly why Mickey didn’t have female friends. 

"I think that Mrs. Gallagher can't have any kids," she added, as if that lessened their kindness in taking on a shit ton of kids.

“And so the fuck what if she can’t?” Mickey demanded. Jessica’s eyes widened to the size of tennis balls and she wisely decided to stay quiet. Mickey bristled with irritation until the redhead Gallagher walked by, grabbing his attention again.

“Which one is he?” Mickey asked as noncommittally as he possibly could. The Gallagher turned and briefly met Mickey’s gaze, sending a wave of awkwardness through him, embarrassed that he may have been caught.

"That's Ian. He's gorgeous, of course, but apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him," she sniffed and he wondered absently when he'd turned her down. Mickey smirked, though, brain picking up on the "none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him"... _Oh really? Or maybe he just bat for the other team? _He schooled his expression quickly not wanting to be prompted to explain the smug look on his face.

At the door to the cafeteria, Ian Gallagher held a similar expression, but when his eyes met Mickey’s for a second time, neither of them looked away for a solid beat. 

“I’m Angela, by the way!” The tawny-skinned girl interjected, ripping Mickey’s attention away from Ian’s retreating back. She held her hand out, ready to shake, but Mickey just stared at it.

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you,” He replied politely, but not taking the offered hand. He didn’t really do _ contact. _She awkwardly removed her hand from Mickey’s space and fixed her hair to try to save face — it didn’t work but Mickey admired her attempt to keep it cool.

“What do you have next period?” She asked, packing up her lunch box. Ugh, lunch was over already?

“Bio,” he answered easily, having memorized the schedule from staring at it for so long trying to avoid other people’s gazes.

“Oh great, me too!” She beamed.

“Yeah, and me!” Mike offered though Mickey hadn’t spoken to him basically the whole lunch period. Eric visibly pouted but remained silent. Mickey tried not to be weirded out by how devoted everyone already was to spending time with him.

Angela and Mike walked with him to the biology room and assumed their seats at their usual black-topped lab tables. Mickey was about to take one of two open seats when the teacher boomed, “AH! A new face!”

Mickey halted in his footsteps and turned to face the teacher. Ah, fuck.

After the bell rang, teacher made him introduce himself to the class at the fucking _ front _. A barbaric practice that Mickey had become reassured was obsolete because of the simpler method of introduction from his other teachers throughout the day.

“Uh… I’m Mickey… Moved here from Chicago…. Just tryna adjust and whatever.”

“Ever taken a biology lab before, Mickey?”

“Was supposed to,” Mickey responded simply, not delving into the backstory that the only reason he hadn’t completed it was because Terry kept dragging him out of school to complete drug runs and shit.

“So this is your first science class with experimentation?” Teacher asked. Mickey turned to face him, brows poised in question, the question being if the teacher was either an idiot or thought Mickey was.

“I guess if you wanna phrase it like that.”

“Oh, excellent! I’ll pair you with Mr. Gallagher, then. He’s been hacking it this semester without a partner but he’s been doing beautifully. He can show you the ropes.”

“Gee, thanks!” Mickey replied sarcastically. 

Teacher almost responded earnestly when he realized that Mickey was being sarcastic and so said nothing but a curt, “take your seat, Mr. Milkovich.”

He followed the teacher’s instructions but stalled when he noticed Ian’s posture go rigid. It was as though he’d turned into a statue, so perfectly still that it weirded Mickey out.

“Mr. Milkovich?” The teacher asked, prompting Mickey to resume taking his seat. He turned to face his partner, brow furrowed in question only to see the most… _ frigid _eyes he’d ever seen.

His blood ran cold in his veins at the look. Mickey had faced Terry Milkovich at his absolute most evil and the rage in his eyes was nothing compared to the intense hatred radiating from Ian Gallagher’s eyes. The phrase “if looks could kill” ran through Mickey’s head more than once by the time he looked away.

It was uncommon for Mickey to feel intimidated — even got to the point of being beyond intimidation by said father figure, Terry Milkovich. But this look… It really was as though Mickey could see the plot for his own murder playing out behind those eyes.

In the cafeteria he could have sworn they’d flirted a little with their short glances and shit, and now this?

The teacher — Mr. Banner — brought Mickey a textbook, finally shattering the spell that coal-black glare held over Mickey. As Mickey flipped through the textbook, stopping at diagrams or pictures of interest, he couldn’t help but keep an eye on Gallagher. It was instinct when he felt threatened to keep one eye peeled for danger. If Gallagher tried shit, he was going to be ready to stop a blow or at least return one and finish the fight. He still couldn’t figure out where the offense was but whatever the kid’s problem was, the thirst for blood was practically tangible on the redhead’s pale skin.

Out of his periphery Mickey could see his neighbor’s fist clenched tight against his thigh, tendons standing out taut, the tension evident straight up his forearm. He suddenly understood and deeply criticized Jessica’s fascination with this guy. Her bitterness for being turned down was a mystery, though. Who the fuck would want to go out with such a douchebag? If they ever got to friendship level, he was going to have a serious talk with her about proper boyfriend material — dangerous to _ this guy’s _ degree was _ not _it.

Mickey couldn’t say he was terribly fascinated by biology, but that was because he’d been yanked out of so many classes growing up that he always felt immensely behind. He wasn’t stupid, far from it, and he was confident of that fact. But book smarts? Yeah, that was something he struggled with and there wasn’t dick he could do about it now but to try to do his best to keep up. Through the day he’d realized something about himself: the more relevant a class was to the real world, the more Mickey liked it. Math that could apply to money, check; English, check to an extent; Government, sure!; Science…. Well, make it apply to the real world and he’d be sure to find some way to keep awake. The problem was that the teachers didn’t seem to understand that (except his government teacher, that guy fucking _ got _it.) The English teacher wanted him to know Middle English because…. Why? And now Mr. Banner was trying to teach osmosis…. Why?

And yet, he found himself suddenly fascinated, anything to keep his irritation from mounting against the kid who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes to himself. 

He was ready to turn and demand to know if Gallagher wanted an autographed photo to whack off to later, but the redhead was out of his seat by the time he turned to face him… Out the door so fast it was like he’d never even been there. Mickey’s eyes widened to double their normal size at that crazy trick. God _ damn! _Was he on track and field with speed like that?

It was almost a comfort to have Angela and Mike excitedly wait for him outside the biology classroom.

“So what’s next?” Mike asked as Mickey approached.

“Gym,” he replied as easily.

“Cool, me too!” Mike and Angela said at the same time.

“Small world,” Mickey remarked with some bite. It wasn’t that he was bothered by sharing so many classes with these people, it was more that he wasn’t even getting an opportunity to decide if he liked them or if he was just going to have to spend the semester testing his patience with them. Hopefully like would come along. Friends… What an idea.

Mickey made a mental note to call Mandy sometime soon. Family… That was all Mickey’d ever had back home was family.

Mike and Angela filled the silence on the way to the gym and mercifully didn’t even try to demand he participate until they cleared the doors to the gym.

"So, did you stab Ian Gallagher with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

“Oh, Jesus Mike, you don’t have to make it sound like an accusation! Mickey didn’t do anything!”

Mickey cringed at his name on her tongue, like they’d known each other for life rather than for only the past two hours.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mike added on, apparently noticing the grimace. Oh, _ oh _they thought Mickey felt bad or some shit?

“It’s whatever. He wants to fuck with me I’ll fuck with him right back, no big deal.”

“Oh, tough guy, huh?” Mike laughed. Mickey stopped in their tracks and his companions screeched to a halt beside him. He lifted his fingers, curling them into light fists so Mike could read the threatening message they held.

“This ain’t just for decoration. Do you know shit about south side?” Mike’s eyes widened and he noticeably blanched.

“Uhm… No…”

“Those are real?” Angela whispered, scandalized.

Mickey grinned.

“What, you thought I drew these on with Sharpie or some shit?” 

“They kinda look it… No offense!” Angela cried, cheeks flushing. Ha! Mickey was growing to like this girl. He lowered his fists to retrieve his biology textbook from under his arm and grinned at her — less threatening this time.

“Yeah, I was thirteen and my brother was high as _ fuck _when he did it.” Mickey actually felt comfortable for the first time all day. “So anyway, don’t worry about me and Gallagher. If he’s got a problem, we’ll deal with it.” Angela cringed — okay, clearly a pacifist or some shit.

"He's a weird guy, glad you’re not taking it personal." Mike blurted as they moved on to the dressing room. “If you were my partner I would have talked to you."

“Oh, instead of glaring at me like I’d personally got your favorite cartoon cancelled?” Mickey joked. Mike laughed an appropriate laugh and Mickey really did feel like he was settling in… which immediately put him on high alert.

They made their separate ways to the boys’ locker room with Angela waving goodbye as she entered the girls’. 

The teacher, Coach Clapp as he loudly introduced himself, found a uniform in his size and gave him an extra two minutes to get dressed.

Before they got started playing volleyball, Angela went off on a tangent about how they still play segregated, “as though girls can’t handle playing with the ‘mightiness’ that are the boys!” she raged in a whisper. Mickey couldn’t help but laugh. He was _ far _ from sexist, but he could already tell by looking around at some of the tools, and of course by the way said boys wound up playing, that the toxic masculinity bullshit was _ abound _in this gym class. 

Mandy had gone off on him about toxic masculinity when they were fourteen and she’d never let him forget about it while he was closeted as fuck and doing everything he could to play up his straightness — in other words, hypermasculine bullshit that played right into that ‘toxic masculinity’ bullshit. And well… Next time he talked to Mandy he’d have to apologize for laughing at her. He knew that if the girls had been allowed to play with the guys that most of the guys would have played up the hypermasculinity factor to try showing off for one reason or another. Mickey on the other hand made a mental note to stick to the cold turkey method of quitting smoking because he got winded _ way _too easily considering how in-shape he supposedly was. He managed to play a decent game, but he hated how he huffed at the end of the first game.

The final bell rang sooner than Mickey had expected, the game taking all of his attention away from the concept of time as he and the other guys enjoyed some friendly competition. Mike was growing on him even more than he’d expected.

In the locker room, Mike invited Mickey out bowling, but a. Mickey was broke, and b. He’d had his fill of _ people _for the day and was ready to get home to sack out on the couch in silence until Charlie returned home. 

As soon as they stepped outside of the gym, Mickey realized he was missing something important — his jacket. Because _ fuck _was it freezing out there suddenly!

“Fuuuck,” Mickey groaned aloud, despite himself. Mike looked at him with question. “Gallagher pissed me off so bad I forgot to get my jacket!” Mike laughed. “ ‘t’s not funny, asshole” Mickey insisted. Mike shrugged.

“Humor is to the eye of the beholder, something like that.” Mickey just arched a brow in question, though not particularly interested. “Mr. Banner probably took it to the lost and found after his last class,” Mike offered helpfully. Mickey nodded and held up a hand, non-verbally communicating his ‘see you later.’ Mike gave a single nod and they went their separate ways.

And because God or the Universe or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it had a deranged sense of humor, Ian Gallagher stood at the desk when Mickey stepped through into the office. He didn’t seem to notice Mickey’s entry, though the set of his shoulders was rigid again. Mickey walked right up behind him, leaving a respectable amount of space between them, and stood in their developing line in patient silence. He wasn’t going to lie, Gallagher had scared the piss out of him earlier, but he’d also pissed him off and he was _ not _going to show that weakness to him again.

The voice was slightly husky from his attempts to keep quiet, but it was also smooth — a voice that Mickey could listen to for hours and never get tired of hearing. The accent was familiar… Had the Gallaghers lived in Chicago before moving here too?

Mickey was steadily inching closer, transfixed by the voice, until the topic of discussion pierced the fog over his brain and he realized, with great irritation, that Gallagher was trying to transfer out of bio. What…. Because of _ him? _ What the actual _ fuck _ did Mickey do this time? He _ breathed _ in the guy’s direction and suddenly he was a pariah?

Mickey snorted in irritation and retreated to the back of the office where he suddenly found intense interest in the portraits hung of principals of the past as Gallagher and the receptionist finished up.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "There’s clearly nothing you can do. I’ll have to manage." And he turned on his heel and as he turned they once again met gazes. Ian’s black eyes simmered with hatred like Mickey had never seen before. _ For fuck’s sake! _He glared right back, not dropping his eyes until Ian was out the door with a gust of frigid air from outside.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

“Fine,” Mickey responded tersely, on edge from his latest encounter with Prince Charming. “I actually left my coat, probably in biology. Did anyone bring it in?”

“Oh, maybe! What’s it look like?” she asked helpfully. Mickey described the plain black jacket and she immediately pulled the garment from under her desk.

When he finally got to the truck, it was almost the last car left in the lot. He cranked on the heat as high as it would go, foul odor be damned, and shook out his hair to get the infuriating drip, drip, dripping to stop.

Note to self: acquire parka, and carry it at all times.


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my incredible Beta, Kiki, who helps me strive to be a better writer with each editing session.

As soon as Mickey arrived back at the house, he collapsed to the couch and stared at the ceiling. He needed that parka and he needed a backpack if he was going to be what anyone would call a “student” at Forks High. He sat up quickly, realizing with irritation that his black jacket that had been soaked through since this morning was likely ruining Charlie’s couch. 

So much for sprinkling… Turns out that a day’s worth of sprinkling could be just as bad as a burst of a thunderstorm. He shivered as he removed the jacket, some dribbles of rain water splashing on his jeans as he tugged it away from the Henley fused to the jacket.

He stared at the jacket and contemplated ways to still make this work…. But it was no use. This was the only light jacket he had and it was _ clearly _not built for rain.

He stood from the couch and climbed the stairs two at a time to hang the jacket in the bathtub to air dry. He turned to his closet a moment later to double check that there wasn’t _ anything _he could use in place of a backpack or rain jacket… Anything at all.

But nothing.

He _ hated _asking people for money, but he needed shit. And as much as he really didn’t give a rat’s ass about stealing what he needed, he knew he couldn’t fuck things up with the Chief. If he got caught stealing…. God, could he send him back?

Mickey could handle himself in just about any environment he’d ever been placed and yet the environment that should be the least stressful was the one that was causing him the most confusion and distress. This new home was the most conventional he’d ever been in by far and his guardian actually tried to show that he gave a rat’s ass about him, and yet Mickey felt like he had to watch his every step, not wanting to do anything to get him sent back. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, try to defy his upbringing and pretend he knew how to do shit the “proper” way and that was what was so stressful to him. Even so, he’d do anything he could to avoid going back to that level 14 group home he’d been in before Charlie adopted him. He had to be on his best behavior while he was here. Charlie had told him in the car that his old life was behind him now, but he hadn’t even known what that entailed: theft and fighting and scamming, all just to survive.

He pulled out the duffle he’d used to bring everything he owned and stared at it long and hard. Yeah, this’d have to do for a backpack until he got a part-time job or something. All day he’d dodged picking up text books because he sure as _ shit _wasn’t going to carry five heavy fuckin books in his arms all day. But a duffle would work to keep them all together, and over his shoulder.

Then for the parka… He’d just have to suck it up. He was warm enough throughout the day and his winter coat would probably work better once it got colder for rain and snow. It would just be aggravating for now.

But what Mickey _ really _wanted…. Was a cigarette. It’d been over twenty-four hours without one and his stomach was practically growling for one. His mouth twisted at the thought of having one, as though demanding that Mickey grab one. But he was out. His chest rippled inside as though in protest to his declaration to himself that a cigarette right now was not happening.

He nudged his nose aggressively with a tightly curled knuckle and hustled down the stairs, not minding the volume until he noticed Charlie’s boots at the door which sent him into a (practically screeching) halt. He took the rest of the stairs slowly and mutely appeared in the archway to the kitchen.

Charlie sat at the table, his usual spot Mickey realized absently, rifling through some mail.

“Hey, sport!”

“Sport?” Mickey blurted in disgust. Charlie looked up at him, brows raised in confusion. Mickey didn’t know whether to back down or give him a look that made him feel stupid for ever uttering that nickname in his presence, as though Mickey were still eight.

“Uh, sorry!” Charlie corrected all on his own (unless Mickey had his resting bitch face on, which was possible). “I… God I keep forgetting you’re not a kid anymore, damn near a grown up.” Mickey raised his brows, communicating his racing thought, _ Yeah, old man, that’s how this shit called ‘time’ works… _ “Mickey,” he corrected and Mickey allowed it, joining Charlie at the dining room table. “How was your first day?”

“Uhm… Good, actually.”

“Made any friends you think?” Charlie put down the mail he was sorting and turned his friendly face to Mickey’s.

“I actually think I might’ve,” Mickey replied, his own disbelief coming through into the statement.

“Well good! I knew you’d do well here!” Charlie exclaimed excitedly. _ Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, old man, _ Mickey snarked to himself, _ it’s only day one and I’ve already been tempted to go stealing shit and I still _ really _ want a cigarette. I ain’t your perfect little boy. _

“Maybe,” Mickey allowed.

About an hour later while he lounged on the couch, another Coke in his hand like the night before, Charlie seemed to realize something.

“No homework?” 

“Uh, no. Teachers gave me a freebie,” Mickey lied. Charlie accepted it so easily that it actually tore at Mickey’s conscience. 

“I uh… I noticed your jacket hanging in the bathroom,” Charlie added after a brief silence. Mickey turned his eyes to Charlie, searching for irritation or anger but there was none. There was concern, though…

“I can move it,” Mickey offered easily.

“Oh, no, that’s the perfect place for it I just didn’t realize that you didn’t have anything for the rain up here. I’m shocked they didn’t tell you you needed one before you came.”

“They did.”

“Oh,” Charlie muttered awkwardly. The buzzer rang on the Bulls game they were watching and Mickey blurted out a random, but relevant, fact just for Charlie’s information.

“I’m broke. I’ve always been broke.” He heard Charlie shift in his chair at Mickey’s tone. Charlie settled into his chair with a deep, somber sigh. Mickey wondered if he just reminded the man of who exactly he was dealing with. Mickey remembered a lot of what he’d gone through that led him to being with the Swans, but not much about being with them. Yeah, he tried in school and stopped stealing (kept drinking and smoking but, hey, no one’s perfect) while he’d been with the Swans but for some reason he didn’t remember all that many particulars. The last time he’d been sent to them he was thirteen and Mickey was a lot more resistant to following Detective Swan’s orders than he’d been as an eight and ten year old.

“Do you need anything?” Charlie offered so sincerely it once again tore at Mickey’s insides. He looked him dead in the eye so Charlie wouldn’t even be tempted to do anything generous.

“Nah. It’ll get cold soon and my coat’ll work for the rain.” Charlie’s look confused Mickey, he couldn’t really describe it… Like a mix of shame and confusion.

“Have you called Mandy or Iggy?” Charlie asked out of fucking _ nowhere. _

“Uh, no, why?” His stomach suddenly crowded with butterflies as he wondered if something happened and Charlie heard of it because of the adoption agency.

“There’s a phone right there in the kitchen since you don’t have your own yet.” Charlie replied. “You could call them any time.” Mickey stared at the other man blankly and, having nothing to say, relaxed back into his lying position on the couch, watching the game that he didn’t even care about — other than the team being from his hometown.

Next thing Mickey knew, Chief Swan’s large hand pat Mickey’s bare foot, startling him so badly he accidentally kicked out, even knowing who it was who must have touched him. He stared up at the new father figure warily.

“Whoa!” Charlie simply exclaimed. “Sorry, should’a warned you, huh? Gotcha.” Mickey realized that his shoulders and biceps were tensed, prepared to fight and he relaxed his muscles, sitting up to give Charlie room on his couch.

Had he lashed out at Terry like that….

Mickey shuddered at the memory of his first pistol-whipping. It wasn’t his only, but Mickey would do anything to avoid it; such maneuvers often were what granted him the pistol-whippings. He’d keep fighting until the butt of Terry’s gun would knock him out cold. He’d always felt stupid for not just taking the punch to the face, why he always had to lash out back, knowing it’d be returned with something worse. Charlie’s face was serene, but his eyes were hard and Mickey knew that Charlie somehow had some idea of what’d just happened.

Did someone tell him his personal business? A sudden hot, indignant wave of anger coursed over him, but he swallowed it knowing it was irrational to get angry for something he didn’t even know was the case.

“Um, no… No you’re okay,” Mickey muttered after an awkward pause.

“Mickey.”

Oh Jesus, what’d he do?

“No, no, you didn’t do anything! And that’s…” Charlie blew out a breath, clearly working for his words. Mickey’s stomach flipped nervously. “I get it’s only day two, but… I really want you to see this new space as _ home. _ ” Mickey arched a brow. “Or… at least a space that’s also _ yours. _You don’t have to step on eggshells around me, you don’t have to cover up who you are. Your family is your family and anything you need is yours, okay? No paying me back for food or clothes or school supplies — ”

Was this guy a mind reader?

“You’re not on your own here, okay? That’s all I’m gonna say.” Mickey’s mouth suddenly went dry and he couldn’t explain why. Staring into Chief Swan’s copper eyes suddenly made Mickey insanely nervous. And Mickey didn’t _ do _nervous.

“I uhm… .I think I’m gonna go to bed,” Mickey announced. It was only 7:30, according to ESPN, but… Well, jetlag and all that crap right?

“Oh, okay, no problem. Definitely feel free to call your sister and brother whenever you’re ready though.” Mickey nodded and evacuated from the couch. But something stopped him at the foot of the stairs. The reason for his nervousness, perhaps.

“Why did you even bother?” Mickey blurted at the base of the stairs. Charlie turned to face him, having not quite climbed back into his LaZboy. The older man quirked a brow in question but didn’t say anything — probably was too afraid of spooking Mickey off from more of his words. “I’m seventeen, gonna be an adult in a few months. What’s the point?” Mickey exclaimed a little more passionately than he’d expected. Charlie grinned wryly.

“I never forgot you, Mickey. I never forgot how you _ blossomed _ when you were with me and Renee, how you were _ so much more _than the cards you were dealt.” Mickey’s body chilled as the anger and frustration wiped clean out in one fell swoop. His face surely showed how dumbstruck he was. “When I contacted the agency in Chicago, letting them know I wanted to help at-risk teens and they pulled our files together because I’d had you so many times before… It just seemed like a sign.” This was the most that Charlie had ever spoken at once that Mickey could remember and it was so sincere that it nearly knocked the wind out of Mickey’s chest.

“But you know what kind of person my dad was tryna raise me to be… Why would you invite me to your house knowing all that shit?”

“Because you haven’t done anything, and I knew you wouldn’t do anything but try your hardest because that’s how you’ve _ always _been.”

“I was a kid. I’ve changed a lot.”

“You can change a lot of things, sure. But that’s just your nature, Mickey. I recognized it in you from the time you were six years old and Iggy tried to convince you to swipe my wallet and you refused to do it because, and I quote, ‘He ain’t done nothing to us yet.’” 

Mickey remembered that day. Iggy was trying to piss off the Swans enough to get them sent back into the system so they could get lost in it, not wanting Terry, or even Mom, to be able to get them back. 

“Didn’t know you ever heard any of that.” Charlie grinned and shrugged.

“Kids don’t have a great sense of volume,” Charlie responded drily, though there was some amusement ther too. “His whisper was more like a stage whisper, I could hear it from the hallway. But anyway, the point is you’ve never let me down. Every time you’ve been with me and Renee you’ve always tried. And that’s all I expect you to do here, try. And I want to help you in any way I can, but I’m not going to hover or assume, you’re going to have to let me know when you need help.”

Charlie man-of-few-words Swan, ladies and gentlemen. The police chief actually exhaled sharply as though winded by the effort.

“Well, thanks…” Mickey replied awkwardly. Charlie just smiled and settled back into his recliner, freeing Mickey from the uncomfortable conversation.

He didn’t call Mandy. Not yet. He wanted something to report. And besides, only god knew if she had the same phone number. Hopefully they left on decent enough terms that she’d want her brothers (or at least Mickey) to be able to contact her. But you never knew with Mandy, so he wouldn’t know that until he tried calling. And for some reason, the thought of calling raised an anxiety inside Mickey that he’d never encountered before. He’d already lost so much and yet gained so much. Where did his family fit into all of these changes? _ Did _they fit in with all of these changes?

Mickey’d never felt like more of a coward in his whole life, but there it was. He was afraid to reach out to his sister because he was terrified of what he’d find on the other end of the phone line.

When Mickey awoke it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because Mickey knew what to expect of the day. Mike came to sit beside him in English, and walked with him to the next class, with Eric excitedly matching their strides as he settled in beside him in their class. People already started to adjust to Mickey the new kid and so not so many people stared. At lunch, Mickey mostly ignored Jessica and talked with Mike, Eric, and Angela who quickly were turning out to be reasonably fun to talk to. Mostly they all gawked at his stories, the few he decided to share, and these small-town kids were able to exchange some relatively wild stories of their own. Granted, nothing as good as a neighborhood bonfire of _ pounds _of marajuana — that’s where the kids from Forks learned their place in this discussion of who had the best crazy story. 

“Ian’s not here…” Angela remarked as though his absence suddenly occurred to her. Mickey turned to examine their table to find that this was true, Ian Gallagher was no where in sight amongst his siblings. Two of said siblings eyed him warily and Mickey stared them down right back. He wasn’t fucking afraid of them despite how everyone else around here seemed to be. Redhead girl, Debbie he believed her name was, turned back to face her siblings with a shake of her head. He wanted to know what she said to one of her brothers but at the same time he didn’t. He didn’t know what that prick Gallagher’s problem was, but next time Mickey saw him he was determined to find out.

The guy wasn’t in biology either, fine by Mickey. Maybe this time he’d be able to actually focus, maybe learn something kinda cool.

Well, mitosis wasn’t exactly cool or relevant but Mickey was just so glad to not have a reason to believe he’d be in a fight anytime soon that he was more than willing to give the material a try. Mike tried to sit by him since Gallagher was missing but Mr. Banner rejected the attempted lab partner switch. Mickey rolled his eyes behind closed lids, starting to find it odd how connected his friends already were to him. 

After class, Mike mentioned Gallagher’s absence too, Angela exchanging a weird look with the blonde.

“What, is that weird or something?” Mickey asked.

“Well, they skip and stuff, but only when the weather’s nice — Camping and backpacking, stuff like that. They’re a real outdoorsy family.”

“What’s the fuckin deal with this family? They’re like the goddamned Kardashians around here with how much everyone knows about their business,” Mickey bristled, tossing the duffel slowly filling with heavy textbooks over his shoulder. He didn’t want to know all this shit about the Gallaghers just like he didn’t want anyone knowing anything about _ his _shit. His shit was his shit and their shit was their shit. Mike and Angela both had the decency to look awkward about the whole thing. Eric caught up to them and seemed to quickly gauge the mood, bright smile faltering in a matter of seconds.

“Oh god, what happened?”

“Nothin,” Mickey barked. The other two held behind him to walk in his footsteps but he and Eric easily picked up a conversation about the beach trip everyone was planning.

“Oh, I think Charlie said somethin’ about La Push… I think a family friend lives over there or something,” Mickey murmured easily.

“Oh, cool! If you want to invite them, you’re welcome to! We’re going to go surfing and whale-watching, build a fire... all sorts of fun stuff!” Eric gushed. Mickey smirked despite himself — the nerd’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“I’ll think about it,” Mickey promised. And he would. But if he’d have to deal with Jessica _ and _Mike _and_ Angela’s gossip about the Gallaghers then he’d have to fuckin pass. No gossip. That was officially Mickey’s rule.

“Please do, I just know we’ll all have fun!” Eric beamed. Mickey waved him on, knowing the kid didn’t know what to do with himself now that they’d arrived at the gym. “Well, see ya!” Mickey arched an eyebrow in return and Eric laughed before continuing his route to his building.

Mickey marched through the gym, huffing down the stairs, not from the exertion or anything, just because sometimes it was good to make noise. Behind him, Mike was actually huffing to keep up with Mickey’s stride as he seemed to hop down the steps in twos rather than one at a time.

“Sorry if we pissed you off, man,” Mike blurted behind him just as they breached the entrance to the locker room. Mickey turned back to look at him, brows raised and arm holding the door open.

“Uh, don’t worry about it,” Mickey mumbled, leaning back to allow Mike to step through, a gesture that said ‘I’m not actually pissed at you, you just irritated me a bit is all.’

“It’s just, they’re a bit strange and they stand out so people just kinda _ watch _them, I guess. I guess even me…” Mike sighed at the realization, clearly disappointed in himself.

“You can watch them all you want, just don’t try to tell me all their business. If I wanna know I’ll go talk to one of ‘em.” Mickey’s tone was final, allowing for no question and no argument. This was a rule. Mike nodded and changed for gym.

  
  


Tonight was the night. The first night in five years that he was actually going to sit down and do some homework.

What was the last assignment he’d tried to complete?

Mickey thought he recalled a sheet of fractions followed by a short story for English, but fuck if he could remember actually doing it, that may have just been the last assignments he brought home without turning them into paper airplanes first.

He sloughed the duffel off his shoulder with a huff, realizing with further irritation that this bag wasn't going to cut it for a back-pack substitute. Cracking open the first book, deciding that government would probably be easiest to start with, he dove right in… For about fifteen minutes. For some reason, he couldn’t help but think about the cold glares he received from the Gallaghers on his way to the truck. You ever feel a stare from someone so hard that it’s almost like their eyeballs are _ actually, physically _poking you? Well, try that four times over and see if you don’t whip around so fast you almost punch your newest friend in the arm. The Gallaghers glared him down outside of a brand new Volvo sportscar and Mickey returned the look until all four shook their heads and climbed into the car and drove off.

“Damn…” Mike and Eric had said at the same time behind him.

Okay, so maybe Gallagher’s absence was because of Mickey and that’s why the other kids were pissed at him. Boo-fucking-hoo, Mickey hadn’t done _ shit _to the guy so they could all fuck off with whatever blame game they were playing for their brother apparently becoming too ill or whatever to get to school just because of one shared period with a guy he hated for no reason.

Mickey shook his head. Now was not the time. There never really would be a good time because this bullshit was exactly that: bullshit. No reason to get hung up on it, no reason to worry or fret about someone else’s feelings when he hadn’t said two words to the guy or looked at him in any type of way.

He returned to his homework… For another fifteen minutes.

This time his thoughts drifted to Mandy. He hated that a prick at the group home had first jacked and then fucked up his phone, because there was no way for him to even see if Mandy had called. Had anyone with DCFS given her his new number? Probably not considering they hadn’t bothered to give him hers. _ “Keeping siblings together” my ass, _Mickey thought bitterly to himself.

He turned to look at the landline phone and bit his lip.

What was the worst thing that could happen?

It was around 7PM her time… Probably at dinner… Probably wouldn’t answer…

And yet, Mickey knew he was being a fucking coward to not at least _ try. _

He breathed deep through a stomach full of butterflies and scraped back from the table to cross to the phone. The number flew easily under his fingers like it was second nature… and he waited.

“Hey, this is Mandy Milkovich. Sorry I missed you… Call me back later or leave a quick message if you’ve really got to.”

Voicemail… Mickey sighed again as the voicemail beeped to signal the recording.

“Hey, Mands. I’m all the way out in fuckin Forks, Washington. Never heard of this place, have you? …” he blanked on what to say next and stood there for a pregnant moment before realizing the voicemail was about to time out. “I uh… Just wanted to see how you’re doing with your adopted family, make sure they’re treatin’ you okay and all that. I’m good. My guy turned out to be one of the guys that fostered me an’ Iggy a lot. Guess he liked me…” Ew.. that was starting to sound gross. “But anyway, he’s real nice and the kids here are nice but boring so… That’s my life now, or at least what it looks like — ”

“If you have finished recording, please hang up or press pound for more options.”

“Well… call me back, Mands,” Mickey said on the off chance the robot was still recording and hung up.

Dammit, he knew he’d talked too long! He exhaled sharply and reached instinctively for his front pocket only to remember, for the fiftieth time in the past three days, that he had no cigarettes.

Over his grunt of dissatisfaction, the sound of the front door swinging open erupted ahead of him.

“Mickey?” Charlie called.

“Yeah, hey,” Mickey answered, exiting the kitchen to greet him in the small foyer. Charlie closed the door with his foot and worked his gun belt off from around his waist, hanging it by the door.

“Picked up dinner tonight, hope you don’t mind.” Mickey noticed a large white to-go bag and faintly smelled sizzling red meat and fried potatoes — steak and fries, Mickey guessed.

“No, smells good,” Mickey replied shortly, returning to the kitchen to clear the table of his homework as Charlie stumbled out of his boots.

"What's for dinner?" he asked just to fill the silence. 

"Steak and potatoes," Charlie answered. “Rare, right?” the chief asked as he set the bag of food down on the table. Mickey smiled despite himself but quickly wiped it away.

“Yeah, thanks,” Mickey replied coolly. He didn’t know why he tried to hide any legitimate emotion from the old man…. It’s not like the guy missed a thing and Mickey knew it. It must be how Mickey was raised and he’d just never noticed before.

Mickey felt somewhat awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing, just watching Charlie pull out to-go boxes and small Styrofoam bowls of sides, so he crossed to the cabinets and pulled out two plates complete with two sets of cutlery. 

They gathered their food, fixing their plates, and ate in silence for a few minutes. Mickey’s steak was the absolute perfect temperature, not a degree above his true preference of medium rare.

“Did I interrupt homework time?” Charlie asked conversationally. Mickey looked to his small stack of books by the sink and shrugged.

“Wasn’t makin’ much progress anyway,” Mickey confided.

“Tough?” Charlie guessed. Mickey shrugged.

“Just not focusin’.” Charlie nodded as though he already knew what was occupying Mickey’s mind instead. “I uh…” God, what was he doing? “I tried callin’ Mandy,” Mickey offered. Charlie nodded again, wiping his mouth before speaking.

“Oh? Only tried?”

“Yeah, machine picked up. Probably didn’t know what to do with a Washington number,” Mickey replied dryly, though he secretly worried that it was something else.

“Next time I talk to your case worker I’ll see if she can get you another number to try — a landline or something.” God, _ was _this man a mind reader?

“Thanks,” Mickey murmured. Charlie nodded with a slight smile.

“How’s school treatin’ ya?” Charlie asked casually almost immediately after their last burst of conversation. Oh God, he thought Mickey was getting comfortable…

“Uhm, good I guess. Just… the whole _ trying _thing is new for me.” Charlie clearly hadn’t expected that answer, his face darkened with sincere sadness and empathy. Yep, he knew about Terry Milkovich and his anti-scholastic stance.

Terry Milkovich didn’t give a flying fuck about raising valedictorians or college educated yuppies (strictly because he referred to such people as ‘yuppie pussies’ and he’d be damned before he saw one of his children become one.) Back in grade school, before Mickey was old enough to get deeply involved in his dad’s business (and while DCFS had a close connection with the school system), Mickey loved school. He liked math and history the best with science as a close second to the other two tied subjects. And he didn’t even dislike English or music class, they just weren’t his favorites. Mickey’d _ loved _school but he knew from a very early age not to let on that this was true, so the only way anyone could tell was from the simple fact that he did his work. He actually tried in class and turned in his homework every morning.

By age eleven, though, things started to change. It was harder and harder to keep up with schoolwork because Terry had him out running numbers or sneaking past police stations hiding small amounts of weed or cocaine on his person.

“So, you’re liking school okay? Looks like you’ve got some friends?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mickey replied simply to both questions at once. “Though there’s one kid who was a bit… I don’t even know what in class yesterday. Then he was absent today.” Mickey didn’t know why he shared this bit of information.

“Unpleasant?” Charlie provided. Mickey shrugged and nodded as he speared a cut of meat with his fork.

“You know the Gallagher family?” Mickey asked hesitantly, damn him. Was he a hypocrite? Oh yeah. But if he was going to let his curiosity get the best of him and pry for information it was going to be from Charlie rather than the gossip train at school for numerous reasons, not the least of which being that he’d thrown a fuckin fit over gossip literally hours before and now was letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"Dr. Gallagher's family? Sure. Dr. Gallagher's a great woman."

"They… the kids… are a little different. One of the boys was who gave me a hard time yesterday." Charlie smirked in response.

“Can’t handle someone not being nice to you all of the sudden?”

“Fuck off— ” He’d said it on instinct, hadn’t even had a second to think about keeping his mouth shut and he stared wide eyed at Charlie until the man laughed.

“Aw, c’mon you know I’m just joshin' you!” Charlie laughed. Mickey blew out a relieved breath, glad he’d not offended him. “So one of ‘em’s givin you trouble huh? That’s the first I’ve ever heard of something like that with those kids. From what I hear they’re all incredibly polite.”

“Maybe that’s why they don’t fit in with the others,” Mickey joked. But Charlie shocked him by looking mad.

"People in this town," he muttered. “You know… Most of the time I’m bragging about how well behaved our teens are here, and they are — ” Oh shit… Mickey’d gotten him on a tangent. “But I swear some of these kids here are even worse than in the big cities about inclusivity and cliques.” Mickey was about to try to change the subject, but Charlie continued… "You know that Dr. Gallagher is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here? We're _ lucky _to have her — lucky that she is so devoted to her family who all wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should —camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

Mickey stared at Charlie, who was practically panting after such a long declaration, as though he’d grown a second head… because the guy was so passionate about this group and he couldn’t put a finger on why that would be.

“I mean… It’s no big deal or anything, he didn’t stab me… Just… I dunno, if they treat the other kids like Ian Gallagher treated me the other day I can get why they wouldn’t really belong.”

“I’m sure there was just some misunderstanding,” Charlie assured.

“I mean, I didn’t say shit to the guy and he glared at me like I’d stolen his car, but sure… maybe a misunderstanding.” Charlie shrugged, clearly done with the conversation because he had nothing better to add, and they lapsed into silence.

Charlie cleared away the to-go containers and put away the leftovers, insisting to Mickey that he hit the books rather than help… And so he did. And he finished his homework in only a matter of hours and so was even able to catch the last twenty minutes of the Bulls game.

  
  


By Friday, Mickey basically recognized everyone in his class and knew at least half of the names of people in his class, even if he only ever spoke to Eric, Mike, and Angela. 

Jessica, of course, continually noticed that Ian Gallagher was missing, each day wondering aloud where the missing Gallagher was. On the second day Mickey turned to find the Gallaghers at their usual table, minus one tall redhead, and turned right back around to continue talking to Angela and Eric about the coming trip to La Push.

The whole week went by much easier without the presence of Ian Gallagher, Mickey suspected. It wasn’t like he was obsessed with the guy, but just in his first and then second day without him he recognized how much easier it was to breathe in biology without someone glaring at him the whole hour. By Friday, not even Jessica mentioned his absence anymore and Mickey actually felt confident that he was learning something in each of his classes.

“Maybe Mickey scared him off?” Mike suggested on Friday on the way to gym. Eric was horrified but Mickey genuinely laughed and shrugged as though accepting the possibility, though he knew the suggestion was ridiculous. From there, Eric invited Mickey to do homework together later that night and, though the offer was tempting just so that he could have someone else to help him along when he got lost, Mickey also had the suspicion that Eric had a crush on him… Though Mickey was confident in his sexual orientation, he also simply didn’t want to give the poor guy any false hopes. It was why he hung out with Mike and Angela more (and avoided Jessica like the plague because she too flirted with him as though they were a guaranteed item).

Rain was almost a distant memory and so Mickey was able to spend his weekend outside for the most part. He walked through the wooded area behind Charlie’s house, a gun strapped to his hip just in case he ran into any dangerous wildlife, and actually completed his homework. On Sunday he tried again to get in contact with Mandy, to no success. He was starting to worry but Charlie assured him that she was adopted by a good family he knew personally and that she was probably just getting adjusted still.

That night he also confronted Charlie about all of the take out they were eating.

“So… Do you know how to make anything or do you just prefer restaurant food?” Mickey asked, no judgement in his tone. Charlie shrugged, spearing a floret of broccoli in indignation.

“Didn’t figure you would want to make dinner after school and lord knows I don’t feel like it at the end of a long day.” Mickey showed his palms in surrender, a gesture that said ‘hey, no, I get it! I was just asking…’

“I can make some basics if you wanna save some cash,” Mickey suggested. Charlie’s brows raised in surprise.

“I didn’t want to insult you, but yeah I wasn’t sure if you knew — ”

“Terry wouldn’t splurge for the dollar menu, the only way to eat was to make it yourself, especially when Mom wasn’t around.” Charlie visibly blanched — finally something he didn't know about Mickey’s so-called tragic past. So he switched the subject to girls, causing Mickey’s pulse to race against his throat. He swallowed hard, brain racing to try figuring out what to do. Charlie was pretty cool about everything, he couldn’t imagine that the guy was homophobic… but god, what if he was? What if he looked at him differently or worse, what if he was just as bigoted as Terry deep down and tossed him out on his ass? He knew the suggestion was silly, but it was a worry he couldn’t escape. He’d left it at a simple “no one’s of interest,” and let the conversation die.


	4. Biology and Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my incredible Beta, Kiki, who helps me strive to be a better writer with each editing session.

Monday morning was a breeze for Mickey except for one thing: his jacket. The lack of rain throughout last week had him forgetting that he desperately needed some new outerwear. Although his coat could survive Chicago’s famously frigid winters, it did nothing to keep his ass dry from the peninsula’s snowfall. Plus, for some fucked up reason, he neglected to pack even one scarf. He also needed to figure out his backpack situation because that duffel he'd been carrying around was about to make him lose his mind.

Billows of white greeted Mickey and Mike on their way from government, Eric meeting up with them along the walk to their next class, and while the other two were prepared for the cold and the wet, Mickey shivered deep in his jacket as flakes of the frozen water met his scarf-less neck and melted, rolling down his shoulders, chest, and back. 

The stuff was already building on the concrete and in the grass.

“Fuck,” Mickey grunted.

“What? You don’t like snow?” Mike asked. Mickey shrugged.

“I’ve had my fill.”

Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. They both turned to see where it came from to find a retreating Eric. Blasé was not a good look on the guy as he literally whistled in a comedic attempt to appear innocent, hands clasped behind his back as he walked in the wrong direction for class. Mike bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch," Mickey saluted, walking along in the direction of his next class where he hoped to find the usually sane Angela. Dry. 

“You not gonna help me get my vengeance?” Mike asked as he mushed the barely solid ball into a hard crusted sphere.

"Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside." Mickey replied drily. He knew he was a stick-in-the-mud for it, but he wasn’t about to spend the rest of his day freezing his nuts and shoulders off for a five minute bit of fun.

“Fine, if that’s what you want!” Mike called, throwing the iceball at Eric’s back.

Good thing it was directed at sweet Eric, for if that hard thing had been thrown at Mickey someone would’ve lost a fuckin’ finger.

Everywhere Mickey went he heard more and more about the snow — as though, Mickey thought sarcastically, the town of Forks hadn't more than likely had a white Christmas. Hell he was damn certain they'd get continued snowfall well into March! Snow to a Chicagoan? Not impressive. He’d figured Forks locals would feel the same, but apparently anything other than rain and green was something exciting for them.

With mush-balls flying everywhere during class changes, Mickey darted from building to building, even resorting to using Jessica as a human shield after Spanish. She thought it was funny until someone nailed her right on the ass — then she scurried inside with Mickey to the warmth.

“Children! Everyone!” She exclaimed. Mickey rolled his eyes but said nothing, stepping into the lunch line with her and Eric. Mike slid right in behind them only a moment later, ice melting in his blonde spiked hair. Once Mike showed up, Jessica perked back up about the snow, completely forgetting her previous distaste for the stuff she had felt only moments ago.

Mickey’s eyes scanned the cafeteria, just for something to do, and his eyes caught five people sitting at the Gallagher table. This struck him quickly because for the past six days or so there’d only been four brooding teens, all pretending to not be glaring at Mickey for some reason.

Today, however, the Gallagher kids were laughing. Ian, Carl, and Lip's hair all entirely saturated with melting snow and Debbie and Liam were leaning away as Lip shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of the cafeteria’s dwellers.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different. Mickey knew this change was from having Ian back with the rest of his siblings. He, Iggy, and Mandy would be just as giddy if they were reunited.

"Mickey, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following his stare.

At that precise moment, Ian’s eyes flashed over to meet Mickey’s. Mickey resumed his stare, refusing to be the bashful one this time. He only dropped his look when it was time for him to move forward in the lunch line.

“Just noticed Gallagher decided to join the rest of us,” Mickey muttered, punching his school ID number into the num pad to pay for his lunch.

Gallagher hadn’t looked like he was dreaming of Mickey’s murder anymore, he looked merely curious, unsatisfied in some way. Either way, Mickey was irritated — first the snow without a proper jacket, then Gallagher’s return. Biology was sure to be fun...

"Ian Gallagher is staring at you," Eric murmured to him, his voice coated with concern. Mickey shrugged but looked at the redhead again.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey murmured back, even though he’d already noticed it was true.

“Maybe what you said the other day about him not liking you was fair…” Eric whispered. Mickey noticed Ian, out of the corner of his eye, laugh a little… Had someone at his table noticed their stare-down? Mickey finally turned away, deciding it was time to stop giving this prick so much of his attention.

"The Gallaghers don't like anybody,” Mike remarked dismissively.

“Well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them,” Jessica added. She adjusted herself in her seat to once again steal a fleeting glance over at the Gallagher table. She giggled awkwardly. “But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him then" Mickey hissed irritably. As always, Jessica flushed at Mickey’s harsh tone that he almost always took with her (because she was always annoying as fuck and he knew of no other way to let her know than to give a harsh tone) and returned to her food.

Mike changed the subject then, aggressively inviting everyone at the table to join an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school. Jessica agreed so enthusiastically Mickey felt his brows shoot up at the embarrassingly obvious display. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. Mickey kept silent, knowing that a mush-ball fight with his pitiful excuse for a winter coat was the last thing he wanted.

For the rest of the lunch hour Eric talked with Mickey about their English assignment — the first English paper Mickey would be writing since middle school. To put it lightly, Mickey was nervous. He wanted to do well, but knew that if he were to fail he’d get one step closer to giving up on the whole enterprise of a conventional education — Charlie’s optimistic dreams for him be damned.

Eric had started attaching himself to Mickey’s side more and more every chance they got. He tried to invite Mickey over to his house for homework and dinner but Mickey insisted he liked to struggle alone. He got the vibe that Eric was developing a crush on him and though he was cute, Mickey supposed, Eric wasn’t his type. To give the poor kid the wrong impression would be cruel and would surely make shit uncomfortable between them. Eric was one of the nice ones, after all.

Mickey had prepared to walk to biology with Angela, who also wanted to avoid the snowball fights at all costs, when Mike practically screeched his remorse about rain. Rain! 

Mickey laughed at Mike’s loss, fuckin delighted that he wouldn’t get to be one of Mike’s victims as Mickey watched the rain washing the mush away on their way to building four. Mike bitched the entire way to class but Mickey just continued laughing to himself, oddly enjoying his friend’s irritation and disappointment.

Once inside the classroom, Mickey saw that his table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and a box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. Mickey kept his eyes to himself, cracking open his textbook to try getting ahead of whatever it was they were going to be doing. They’d gone over mitosis the past few days so quite clearly that was what they were looking at again today in lab. 

Mickey had to laugh at himself a bit for how ridiculous this image was – Mickey Milkovich... studying. It was damn near unthinkable to anyone who knew him back home and he knew he wouldn’t have believed himself capable back home. But he did care. So here he was, nose in the book, memorizing the differences in each phase of cell division, _ in spite _of the fact that it would never do him a lick of good in the future.

Mickey audibly groaned when he saw and heard the chair beside him move and he could have sworn he then heard the prick assuming said seat _ chuckling _under his breath. 

“Hi,” a light but slightly roughed voice announced beside him. Mickey grunted but didn’t avert his eyes from the book. Gallagher huffed another little laugh. 

“I guess I deserve that...” He murmured so low Mickey wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it. His lab partner allowed them to sit in silence for another minute until, almost as though cued to do so, he introduced himself, “My name is Ian Gallagher... I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You’re Mickey?” 

Mickey finally looked up and was stunned at... God, the _ beauty _ of him. He had to remind himself to close his jaw so as not to catch a fucking fly. His cheeks reddened from embarrassment at his reaction. Why was he suddenly so struck by this guy’s appearance now? He’d _ seen the prick last week for fuck’s sake. _ Gallagher broke their eye contact and Mickey sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d neglected to take. _ Fuck... What was that? _

“Uhm, I got your name right, didn’t I?” Ian asked. 

“Yeah,” Mickey grunted tersely. “Just not sure why you wanna be on a first name basis all of the fuckin sudden,” Mickey shot. Ian’s brows furrowed, but not in irritation or anger; he looked truly sorry. He opened his mouth to explain but Mr. Banner started class. They were instructed to place slides in order of mitosis. They’d been discussing this topic all week, so no books were allowed during the exercise. Mickey closed his text and exhaled sharply as he returned the book to the large bag draped across the back of his chair. He’d studied as much as he could but he still wasn’t sure how much he’d actually picked up — and then his lab partner’d been gone all week so how confident Mickey was in their abilities as a team was… lacking.

“Get started," Mr. Banner commanded and left everyone to it. 

“New-comers first, partner?" Ian asked. Mickey looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that he could only stare at him like an idiot. "Or I could start, if you want." The smile faded; he was clearly wondering just how badly he’d fucked up with Mickey, the concern that he’d offended him somehow was written in his eyes. 

"No, I'll go ahead." 

He fumbled with the slide a little, having never used a microscope before. Ian waited patiently, a move which made Mickey self-conscious as _ fuck. _ H _ e _wondered if the guy was starting to think he was stupid. Finally Mickey was confident that the slide was snapped in properly, so he adjusted the zoom to about 40X. His eye widened at the shit he was seeing! It was just like in the book but… wigglier.

“Prophase,” Mickey announced confidently. He turned to Gallagher expectantly waiting for his partner to write the answer down, but he made no move to do so.

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as Mickey had begun to remove the slide. Ian’s long fingers wrapped gently around the back of Mickey’s hand. 

“Fuck!” Mickey shouted, snatching his hand back. Gallagher’s hand felt like he’d thrust it into a fuckin snowbank before class. And in addition to the unhealthy cold, the bastard shocked him like an electric current had run through him.

"I'm sorry," Ian muttered, pulling his hand back immediately while still reaching for the microscope. Mickey watched him, still staggered, as his partner examined the slide for a significantly shorter time than Mickey had taken.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on the worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it for maybe one second. 

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. 

Mickey raised a brow. “Mind?” He asked, gesturing to the microscope.

“Oh, please,” Ian offered, pushing the microscope toward him for good measure with a hearty smile. What a gentleman.

Mickey took a long, hard look only to find out that, dammit, Ian was right.

"Slide three?" Mickey requested, holding out his hand without looking at him. He could almost feel Ian’s smirk mocking him. Ian handed him the slide and Mickey identified the next one easily, “interphase ”and passed Ian the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. Mickey was just pleased that he seemed to be getting them all right, at least by Gallagher’s account, because it meant those hours of studying were actually paying off. 

The boys traded off until all slides were identified. After they wrote down the labels on the worksheet, they suddenly were at a loss of what to do.

Across from Mickey, Mike and his partner were comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Suddenly, Mickey remembered back in early middle school when he actually almost always knew the answers in school and he realized… dammit he could have amounted to so much more if only it weren’t for Terry fucking Milkovich. He used to take school so seriously, something Mickey suddenly remembered that Charlie and his wife always applauded him for. But whenever he returned home Terry would go on his tirades about how school wouldn’t prepare his kids for shit because they would either join the family business or hit the streets. Even when his dad made him start moving shipments and dealing at school, Mickey still tried to keep up, paying nerds to write papers when he couldn’t do it himself.. But eventually it got to be too much so he gave up on literally everything school-related and accepted his fate to be a Milkovich mule. It wasn’t a good feeling, yet it was the family business and it was what he’d accepted. Even now the feeling of disappointment weighed heavy in his gut, especially when it took him six hours to complete what his friends claimed only took them two to complete… He was behind, plain and simple. But dwelling on it wasn’t going to make the feeling suck any less and wasn’t going to get him caught up any quicker.

He huffed out an irritable sigh, imagining that all of this self-pity bullshit blew out with his breath like a cloud of smoke from a cigarette he would damn near kill to have right now.

Having finished their work before everyone else, Mickey and Ian were left with little else to do but avoid glances. Mickey couldn’t deny that there was some sort of chemistry brewing between them. His whole core was ignited by being in Ian’s presence and this tingling feeling radiated out to every muscle in his body. He wondered idly if Ian felt the same way as he glanced up and found Ian staring once again. There was a darkness in his green eyes — though last week Mickey’d sworn they’d been black — that seemed to show frustration or irritation.

“What?” Mickey demanded.

Ian shrugged and looked away. 

Mr. Banner came to their table then, apparently noticing that they weren’t working. He looked over Mickey’s shoulder to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers. 

"So, Ian, didn't you think Mikhailo should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked. 

"Mickey," Ian corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five." 

Mr. Banner looked at Mickey now, his expression skeptical. 

“Didn’t you say you’ve never done lab work in a science class before?” Mr. Banner asked. Mickey nodded. “I see that whatever studying techniques you’ve employed are working. Excellent job, Mr. Milkovich.” Banner tapped Mickey on the shoulder and Mickey jerked away, grimacing at the offended body part as his teacher walked away. He pulled out his notebook and began doodling mindlessly, fully prepared to spend the rest of the class in silence, allowing his lab partner to feel his cold shoulder.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Ian asked. Mickey jerked his attention up from his doodle, a robot it’d turned out to be, and shrugged. He had the feeling he was forcing himself to make small-talk and Mickey wasn’t particularly interested in meaningless chatter. Comfortable silence, even awkward silence, was better than pretending to give a shit about the weather.

"Not really," he replied honestly

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question. 

“I’m used to the cold, the cold I can handle,” Mickey replied easily. Ian nodded and waited for Mickey to continue his thought, though originally he’d intended to have finished speaking. “It’s the wet that gets me,” Mickey added.

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused. 

Mickey shrugged again.

“Could be worse,” Mickey replied casually after a moment of silence.

He looked fascinated by what Mickey said for some reason Mickey couldn't imagine. He looked at Ian’s face a little too long, realizing that his beauty was a distraction, a danger. He was at risk of revealing that chemistry he felt and it wasn’t something he was comfortable with explaining today. He ripped his attention away from Ian’s face once again and determinedly continued his sketch. 

"Why did you come here, then?" Mickey didn’t look up this time, keeping his attention fixed on his doodle.

"It's complicated," Mickey huffed irritably. 

"I think I can keep up," he pressed. 

Mickey laughed without humor. He hadn’t told anyone his shit yet because it was no one’s business and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to start now.

“Can’t you read a fuckin room, Gallagher? I’m not interested in telling you my dirty laundry.”

“Didn’t realize there was dirty laundry to air with that question, sorry.” Ian shot back, brows furrowing in frustration.

“I thought Charlie’d told everyone by now anyway,” Mickey grumbled with equal frustration.

“I try not to pay mind to town gossip,” Ian replied a little haughtily. Mickey snorted.

“You’d be the only one in this fuckin place.” Ian smirked at that so widely that Mickey could see it in his periphery. That caught his attention enough to look back at Ian’s face. The boy was blemish free, no wrinkle or zit or laugh line in sight… Just a dusting of tan and orange freckles across his nose and cheeks, matching the ones on his hands.

“Still,” Ian added, his tone dripping with interest, “I would like to know… what brings you here?”

“Adoption,” Mickey blurted out before he could stop himself. His brow furrowed in surprise at himself. What was he doing going and blurting out his fucking business to a total stranger? And an asshole at that!

Ian’s eyes expanded to the size of golf balls before Mickey tore his attention from him.

“At seventeen?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said defensively. “It fuckin happens for us too.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, it just… was the last explanation I had expected.”

“And what was the first?” Mickey demanded, irritation bunching up his shoulder muscles but for some reason unable to stop responding to his lab partner.

“I don’t know… divorced parents and a shift in custody or something?” Ian offered easily. Mickey huffed and resumed his drawing, already planning on hanging it above the desk that Charlie’d provided.

Mickey had to avoid this boy’s gaze at all costs. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something about looking into his eyes that made him feel the need to spill his guts… And he didn’t like that. Not one bit. No one needed to know about Mandy or Terry, no one needed to know that he was gay and freshly out of the closet — was he still in the closet for not announcing it? No one needed to know that Charlie basically _ rescued _ him from a level 14 group home despite the fact that Mickey was more likely the type to run such a place than fall victim to it or anything like that. No one here needed to know that he was a practiced thief, completely comfortable with breaking noses and busting ribs, that his FUCK U-UP tattoos had been coated in more than one man’s blood. And Mickey _e__specially _didn’t want Ian fucking Gallagher of all people to be the one to yank it out of him, especially not here in this classroom.

“You’re very private aren’t you?” Ian asked after another long silence. Mickey looked up on instinct but quickly averted his eyes.

“What gave me away?” Mickey snarked. Ian chuckled.

“And a natural grump, I’m seeing.”

“I was born this way,” Mickey muttered causing another laugh in the other boy. Mickey, damn him, smiled in return. Ian’s laugh was like music, a melody he could listen to for hours just because it made him feel lighter.

“Am I annoying you?" Ian asked. He sounded amused. 

Mickey worked hard to remind himself not to look his way, simply raising his line of vision to the whiteboard before returning his gaze to the table, his eyes resting on Ian’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t take it personally, most things annoy me.”

“Well, I apologize if you find my questions invasive… I’m just curious about the _mysterious_ Mickey Milkovich. You’re very difficult to read… unlike most people here.”

"You must be a good reader then," he replied. 

"Usually." Ian smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth. 

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and Mickey turned, with relief, to face him. Mickey paid close attention as his instructor went over the stages of mitosis once again, even though he’d got them all correct. He felt Ian’s stare on him the whole time and it took everything in him to not turn and glare him down right back. It wasn’t that he thought Ian was glaring at him again, but Mickey was _ not _interested in suddenly being friendly with a guy who’d intimidated him so strongly when they had first met despite Mickey not doing dick to deserve it.

When the bell finally rang, Ian rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday, and, also like last Monday, Mickey stared after him in amazement. 

Mike and Angela made a straight-shot for Mickey’s side.

"That was awful," Mike groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Gallagher for a partner." 

"I didn't have any trouble with it,"Mickey shot back defensively, stung by his friend’s assumption. Mike held his hands up in an apologetic and surrendering gesture.

"Ian seemed friendly enough today," Angela commented as they all pulled on their coats. Mike didn't seem pleased about it. Mickey just shrugged and followed his friends to the gym. Eric, as usual, caught them halfway there and asked them how the lab was, insisting that his last class was so boring that he was willing to jump on the subject for any sense of excitement. Mike complained about how unfair the assignment was — simply because he sucked at it — and Mickey shared that between he and Ian they were the first to complete the lab. Eric’s face pinched a little… more of that crush Mickey was certain he saw. Angela peeked back at Mickey and Eric and blushed a little bit before turning back around.

Jesus… was that directed at him or Eric? Either way… poor girl, huh?

“So… Mickey,” Eric murmured beside him. Mickey turned to face him and waited for the little nerd to perk up the courage to say whatever he’d wanted to say. “Our paper on _ Romeo and Juliet _is coming up and I thought maybe we could work on them together — for like, motivation and stuff?” 

Mickey blanched.

“You’re fuckin kidding me. He hasn’t mentioned it all fuckin week! I wasn’t here!” Eric grimaced.

“Oh… shit. You haven’t even read it have you?”

“Fuck no!” Mickey exclaimed. Eric beamed, to Mickey’s annoyance.

“Even better! I can help you! We can read it together!” Mickey’s brow arched at the idea.

“You and me… we’re going to read the whole play just the two of us?” Mickey’s tone expressed how dumb of an idea he thought it was. There were over a dozen characters! Reading it, just the two of them, would be more likely to confuse him more rather than help. “I’ll just… Sparknote it… at the library.” Mickey groaned at the thought. It meant he’d either have to stay late one day or come insanely early — _ with the janitors _ early — to get his work done. Charlie had apologized for his lack of 21st century tech when Mickey’d first arrived, knowing he’d likely need a computer for school at some point. Hell, Mickey was about two seconds from saying ‘fuck it’ and just not doing the assignment at all.

“Well, I’ll give you my number… for if you change your mind,” Eric offered. Mickey opened his biology textbook and flipped to the back for Eric to write the digits. He didn’t actually plan on calling the guy, though the offer was too kind for him to disregard completely.

Gym passed easily with the boys playing a couple of rounds of basketball. Mickey wasn’t really a sports person but he actually found himself enjoying the games mostly because of the banter between him and the other guys. Even though he didn’t know most of the guys, everyone acted like he was just another one of the guys… It was a good feeling.

The rain was coming down in sheets by the end of gym. Mickey huffed and charged through, hood up, duffel hidden under his jacket, and pushed right past familiar faces who called out to him because he did _ not _want to get as drenched as he knew he already would get. He flung the bag of textbooks in the passenger seat and leapt into the cab of his truck, shivering and cursing. He cranked on the heat, rotten smell be damned, and sat in an irritable silence until the effects of the heater sank in. Once his hands were dry enough, he picked up his water-logged duffel and unzipped it, groaning at the contents.

Well... hopefully they won't make him pay for replacement books… The damage was only to the tops… but still, the damage was undeniable and dipped low enough that the pages would certainly wrinkle. Mickey rolled his eyes for even caring and tossed the books back into the passenger seat. 

He shifted the truck into reverse and was about to back out of his space when he noticed the still, white figure of Ian Gallagher leaning against the front door of his Volvo, three cars down. He was staring intently in Mickey’s direction. He stared back for a prolonged moment until finally Mickey got impatient and raised his brows expectantly, a gesture that demanded “can I fucking help you?” Still Ian did not avert his gaze… Usually it was a look like that which got people to look away with a flush of fear Ian Gallagher was not afraid of Mickey. Well, Mickey wasn’t afraid of Ian either.

  
  


Mickey spent that night, once again, doing homework. He was very quickly growing sick of this routine but he didn’t care for anyone at school well enough to spend time with them and wasn’t much of a TV watcher or reader so… Homework. It had only just occurred to him that he had never been able to develop a fuckin' hobby. Life back home was about work and providing for the family.

He considered getting a job, but wasn’t that just as tedious and menial as doing homework? At least then he’d have his own money… But then there’d once again be the issue of homework and getting it done.

Mickey groaned and collapsed face-first into his government textbook in frustration.

He remembered kids back home who complained of “too many options.” Well, now he sort of saw the problem.

For the time being he tried to focus on his assignments, convincing himself that his life had more meaning than just filling in answers to questions and trying to solve equations for X. At least back home he had a purpose: take care of the family. What was his purpose here? Charlie would say it was to “be a kid” but what the fuck even was that?

He was sacked out on the couch with their most recent English reading assignment curled up in his lap when Charlie arrived home with what smelled like Mexican food. They ate in relative silence, Charlie asking how school was, as always, and Mickey giving bare minimum details to make Charlie happy. He didn’t share the tidbit about Ian Gallagher, certain that it would start another conversation about the Gallaghers at large and Mickey was simply not in the mood for it. Mickey finished first and started clearing away the to-go containers when Charlie suddenly asked if any girls had caught his eye yet. Mickey stilled and arched a brow at him.

“You wanna talk to me about girls?” Mickey asked, genuinely confused.

“Well, you say you have friends but you haven’t told me about any so… I thought maybe one of them was a girl or something.”

“No… Uh, no girls for me,” Mickey murmured awkwardly.

“Oh, Well… Handsome boy like you you’ll — ”

“Ever,” Mickey interrupted. His heart raced a thousand miles a minute as he stared at his guardian imploringly, begging him to accept him the way his own father never would. His heartbeat thundered so hard he felt the artery in his throat throb with his racing pulse. Charlie’s eyes bugged wide. Mickey actually trembled waiting for Charlie to respond, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end as fear plummeted through his body in icy rivulets.

“Oh, God. I shouldn’t have assumed!” Charlie boomed, covering his mouth in shock for a fraction of a moment before returning to his food. “Any guys catching your attention then?” This time it was Mickey’s eyes that bugged out.

“You’re… you’re cool with me being…?” Charlie tilted his head slightly to the side in question.

“Were… were you afraid to tell me?” Charlie asked, sounding a little hurt. Mickey’s mouth dropped and closed several times as he struggled with his words. “Mickey…” Charlie whispered like a prayer. “I know it’s a lot of trust I’m asking you to put in me, especially considering your father…” Mickey’s brows raised as though to say “well, _ yeah, _so now you get my hesitation?” “But I have no problem with you bringing home a guy, a girl, whoever. I just want you to be happy.” Mickey’s heart continued its rapid pace, stumbling in his chest as his thoughts raced in his brain trying to figure out what the fuck was happening here.

When he’d moved here, he had intended to be open about his identity — and yet every chance he’d had to be open about it, he still kept it close to the vest. There was something horrific about being open, absolutely nauseating. He knew it was irrational — even if he ran into a homophobe or two out here it was unlikely that they would be to the same extreme as Terry Milkovich. But even so there _ was _ the possibility that they were here and the thought of fighting for his life over who he was attracted to just… It was an unpleasant thought, to say the very least. So Charlie’s acceptance, acceptance that came without any hesitation or second thought, floored Mickey. He’d never considered that Charlie would be _ that _okay with it. After a long pause Charlie coughed into a clenched fist and joined in clearing away their dinner mess.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it. I just thought I’d ask. Like I said, handsome boy like you, you’re going to have plenty of interested people.” Mickey looked down at his knuckle tattoos and grimaced. He had a feeling that the only people he’d be attracting would be dumb girls like Jessica who got off on the idea of being with a ‘bad boy’ without actually knowing what it meant to deal with the ‘bad boy’ attitude or baggage. And then there was Eric...

“I think Jessica’s got a thing for me… though with the way she’s always talkin' about the Gallaghers my guess is she’s got a thing for any guy that breathes,” Mickey joked tensely. Charlie laughed. 

“This Jessica Stanley?” Charlie asked from the sink. Mickey had to wrack his brain for her last name, not sure if he’d ever caught it but shrugged.

“The only Jessica I know,” Mickey finally replied.

“Ah, well… She’s definitely a friendly one, if you catch my drift. I’m sure she’ll either catch the hint or move on to someone who’ll give her the time of day soon enough,” Charlie assured. Mickey’s brows shot up in relief at the thought. Her incessant flirting was getting on his last nerve and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take before he finally just screamed in her face to leave him alone.

Once it was established that Mickey didn’t have any fellas to bring home any time soon, Charlie decided to resume his nightly tradition and go pick up the last half of the Bulls game. Mickey joined him, lounging on the couch with _Wuthering Heights_ once again in his lap. He read as much as he could but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get past how fuckin despicable everyone in this household was to one another. It was a little too familiar, actually. He at once identified with Heathcliff and despised him and it was this level of emotional complexity that had Mickey set on edge.

_ That’s enough, _he huffed internally, huffing externally as he sat up on the couch and stretched.

“Gonna turn in?” Charlie asked, already familiar with Mickey’s pattern.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied, grimacing at the ridiculously early hour.

“G’night!” Charlie saluted, returning his attention to the game. Mickey set his book in the kitchen with the rest of his textbooks and nearly climbed the stairs to his room… but paused. He bit his lip and rubbed absently at his temple with a finger as he thought through what he was considering asking. He _ hated _this… His stomach churned to do it, but...

“Charlie?” His guardian averted his attention from the TV to give Mickey his undivided attention. “Could you, maybe,” Mickey exhaled, “spot me some cash for a rain jacket?” Charlie grinned. "And... If it's not too much, the duffel bag isn't really workin' so great for a backpack..."

“Of course! No problem.” He dug easily into his wallet, not one ounce of hesitation or irritation at being asked for money by someone who wasn’t even his fucking kid. “The change you can consider your allowance.” He passed Mickey a crisp $100 bill and Mickey knew that Charlie’d withdrawn that earlier in the week specifically waiting for Mickey to finally perk up the balls to ask for it.

Mickey knew it was a kind gesture and he was beyond grateful, but it was also humiliating. His new father figure simply knew that Mickey was going to end up having to ask for money and had it ready.

“Thanks,” Mickey finally murmured, accepting the cash and not planning on having a repeat of this exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to tip your fanfic writer. Constructive comments are welcome and thoroughly appreciated!


	5. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A near-death experience gives Mickey even more serious questions about who the fuck Ian Gallagher is.

Mickey had planned on going to the store for a rain jacket that next morning before school, but when he opened his eyes to a muted, frosted light he already knew it had snowed last night. A look out his bedroom window confirmed that not only had it snowed, but it had snowed  _ hard. _ There was a good four inches of snowfall on the ground outside. Mickey groaned as he thought of the icy roads he’d have to drive and the snowball fights he could  _ guarantee _ would happen, given the slush fights that started from a fucking quarter inch of slush. But he supposed he was safe from needing a rain jacket for at least today, so that was one positive.

He slapped the curtain closed and huffed his way down the stairs to catch Charlie before he left for work.

“Oh, good!” Charlie enthused in way of greeting, “I was just about to go put chains on the cruiser, you should probably have some on the truck, too.” Mickey shrugged in agreement.

“Forks High stays open through the apocalypse, huh?” Mickey grumbled. Charlie laughed and shrugged.

“Something like that. They’ll close the place because the heaters are out before closing for snow or ice.”

“Beautiful,” Mickey grumbled, bounding back up the stairs to pull on winter appropriate clothing. At least in Chicago kids had public transportation to get them to school when the weather was bad.

When he returned to the foyer Charlie was already outside. He bundled up his winter coat and stepped out into the brisk, frigid air. Charlie was kneeled down by the truck’s front driver’s side tire, a long link of chains stretched between his hands. Mickey crouched beside him and awaited instructions.

“You ever chain a tire before?” Charlie asked. Mickey shook his head, feeling no need to be an ass about how he’d never owned a car to even need chains. “With these it’s real easy…” and so he walked Mickey through the task, how to do it step by step. On the second tire, Charlie watched Mickey deftly wrap and click everything together, only needing to step in twice to help him tighten everything up properly. Then for added practice Mickey helped to chain the police cruiser.

“Alright, good! That should help a lot,” Charlie remarked cheerfully. Mickey looked at his truck and suddenly felt insanely grateful to have Charlie as a guardian. The generosity of this man struck Mickey square in the chest and it took everything in him to keep his thoughts to himself — he may be grateful but he wasn’t exactly ready to bear his soul to the man.

“Thanks… You know, for the chains… and showin’ me how to do it,” Mickey mumbled. Charlie grinned shyly and simply bowed his head in a silent ‘you’re welcome.’ “And uh… I guess I’ll make somethin’ for dinner tonight… If you want?”

“Sure! If you feel like cookin’. But there’s not much in there besides breakfast stuff so…” Ugh, there he was digging into his wallet again. Mickey held his hands up in refusal.

“Nah, you already gave me cash I don’ need — ”

“That’s for your jacket and your bookbag. This is grocery money.”

“It ain’t gonna take $100 to find a jacket,” Mickey argued.

“Maybe not, but there’s going to be other things you need or want and I’m telling you, I don’t mind helping with those things.” Mickey’s mouth opened to argue, but the firm set of Charlie’s eyes and mouth told Mickey all he needed to know: This was not a fight Charlie intended to lose. He hated it… really,  _ really  _ hated it… but he took that grocery money and fully intended to return the change. It was becoming more and more apparent to Mickey that he needed to get a job. It was the only way that he was going to feel right about getting the things he needed because stealing was officially off the table and this ‘allowance’ bullshit was… well, bullshit. It made him feel like a moocher, a free-loader. And Mickey had never been that a day in his life and he really hated to start now.

Charlie gave a friendly smile and clambered into the police cruiser.

“Lookin’ forward to whatever we’re having tonight!” Charlie announced before peeling out of the driveway. Mickey huffed an irritated sigh and returned indoors to warm up and have some breakfast. Charlie only had regular Cheerios for cereal which didn’t put even a dent in Mickey’s sweet tooth. He knew this was probably the ‘healthier’ way to go, but Mickey’s life philosophy had always been ‘I’m here for a good time, not a long time, so fuck it.’ Looked like living in Forks, he was going to get a new life philosophy whether he liked it or not.

After a quick breakfast of said Cheerios with a glass of orange juice, he carefully drove to school. On the way, his mind drifted to the previous night’s discussion…  _ boys. _

It still hadn’t sunk in yet…  _ Out  _ to his father figure and nothing had happened. It was… Completely unbelievable considering where Mickey came from and yet that conversation shift had gone as smoothly as though Mickey had asked him to pass the salt.

As it stood, though, Mickey wasn’t prepared to bring anyone home. The idea of having a boyfriend set the hair on the back of his neck and arms on end. And even if he were looking, the only guy his gaydar was responding to was Eric… And as sweet at the guy was, Eric just wasn’t Mickey’s type. Mickey needed someone more like himself… someone who knew what it was like to live with something resting on their shoulders, someone who knew how to live without and make the most of it, someone with an understanding of what it was like to have a past even if he didn’t have one himself. He wanted someone who was interested in having Mickey’s definition of a good time and something told him that Eric was not the type of guy who would enjoy spending time at a gun range or wrestling around.

Then his mind drifted to Ian Gallagher and he nearly punched himself in the face for it. The guy was a fuckin creep — though a gorgeous creep — who still had a lot to answer to for how he treated Mickey that first day. Usually Mickey wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but that was back when there was a lot more occupying his mind than daily interactions with nobodies. With more time on his hands came more fucks to give about how people talked to him and treated him.

Exiting the cab once he arrived at the school, his eyes caught just how much snow was piled in the bed of the truck. His first instinct was to scrape this shit out before it melted and filled the bed with water… but then an idea struck him.

With more time on his hands also came the very sudden urge to indulge in whimsy. Maybe he’d been a bit of a grouch to Mike the other day over the slush… but that was because it was  _ slush  _ and  _ dirty  _ slush at that. But here was pristine, perfectly solid matter just waiting to be folded and moulded into a sphere.

He wasn’t in on the snowball fight that Mike was certainly planning, which would make his involvement that much more perfect. With twenty minutes before first bell, Mickey stuck his hands into the small blanket of snow and got to work.

But his progress was quickly interrupted by a high-pitched screech coming from behind him. He whirled around and everything stopped for a second before each progression of movement barreled at him before he could process a thing.

A van… one he’d seen parked in this very lot a dozen times by now, was hurtling in his direction. As his brain sought a way out, his eyes caught Ian Gallagher standing four cars down, face distorted in a look of horror. 

He pictured himself diving over the cab of the truck or running out of the way, but his muscles were locked and his eyes couldn’t part from the  skidding tires, locked and screaming against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot.

In a blink, Mickey knew he’d be the center of a truck/van sandwich and there was nothing he could physically do.

Just before the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit Mickey hard, but not from the direction he was expecting. Mickey’s head cracked against the icy blacktop, and something solid and cold pinned him to the ground... lying on the pavement behind the tan car he’d parked next to… away from the truck. 

But the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with him again.

A low voice struck Mickey’s notice and he flashed his attention to the very person whose voice he’d recognized. Ian Gallagher was crouched beside him, over him, with two long white hands held out as though prepared to catch a bunted baseball. The next thing Mickey knew, a tire appeared next to his face, coming to a screeching halt and spraying ice in his face. Mickey gagged at how close the tire was to his nose and returned his attention to Ian Gallagher, whose shoulder was embedded in the body of the van and yet showed no sign of having even noticed it. Mickey’s eyes bugged wide at the sight and he really almost did throw up. 

Gallagher should be dead.  _ He  _ should be dead. This should be a story of a valiant effort gone wrong — a hero lost having unsuccessfully attempted to save the life of a bystander to a tragic accident.

And yet…

Gallagher’s hands pulled away from where they were wrapped in metal and moved so fast Mickey couldn’t keep track of his movements — all he knew was mere seconds later, the tire that was inches from his face was now at least three feet away and icy cold fingers pressed at the place of impact on Mickey’s head. He sucked in a hiss of a breath as the fingers met with a tender spot and he heard Ian curse under his breath.

Their eyes met and Mickey suddenly could not feel the pain in his head or the chill coursing through his ass, legs, and waist. 

"Mickey? Are you all right?"  Ian asked above him. Mickey was almost too lost in those forest green eyes to find his voice. The first day they’d met, those eyes had carried hostility and hatred that Mickey had only ever seen from the likes of his father. And the other day those eyes had been so open, bright with fascination and amusement. Now they swam with concern and an indiscernible number of thoughts.

"I'm fine,”  Mickey croaked. Gallagher held him in an iron grip, nearly clutching him to his side. Mickey pushed away, hand pressing against his chest, but Gallagher’s hold was so constricting that he didn’t budge a centimetre. The strength on this guy actually did send a thrill of fear through him… Mickey’d never known someone so strong. He pushed against the guy harder, fighting to get away, but still he was restrained from budging in the other kid’s arms. 

"Be careful," he warned as Mickey struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

With his attention diverted from Ian Gallagher, he did notice a throbbing pain above and to the slight left of his right ear.

"Ow,"  Mickey murmured , surprised.

"That's what I thought."  He laughed. Mickey glared at the tone, but once again kept his line of sight away from Ian’s eyes as he reached with one hand to investigate the tender spot on the side of his head.

"How in the…" He trailed off,  thoughts disappearing as he made eye contact again. After a pause, he remembered what he’d wanted to ask: "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Mickey," he said, his tone serious again.  Mickey’s brows furrowed as he replayed the event in his mind. No… No, Ian Gallagher had been halfway across the lot as that van hurtled toward him… There was no humanly possible way he got to him that fast! Mickey’s eyes took in the dents in the side of the van, and he lost his breath.

_ How?? _

Mickey turned to sit up, and this time Ian let him, releasing his hold around the smaller boy’s waist and sliding as far from him as possible in the limited space, which was still within arm’s reach but at least gave Mickey a little room to breathe. Mickey  absorbed Ian’s concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his forest green eyes. 

Once again, he averted his eyes and knew what he had to ask, but at just that moment when he opened his mouth to speak, the entire student body crowded around the accident.

"Don't move!" someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around them. Mickey tried to get up, but Ian's cold hand  pressed Mickey’s whole left side down, keeping him from shifting more than an inch or two.

"Just stay put for now,"  He murmured, tone still soft from concern and yet firm.

"But it's cold  as fuck ,"  Mickey grimaced, shifting once again but to no avail . To Mickey’s surprise, Ian chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," Mickey  repeated adamantly and Gallagher’s chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."  Mickey announced.

His expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."  Ian’s voice was just as adamant, as hard as the set of his brows, the clench of his jaw. Those eyes were cold again, unfeeling and yet concerned all at the same time. How could that be?

"I saw you," Mickey insisted, over the chaos of the students trying to pry the van away from them, to make way for the ambulance and police. 

"Mickey, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."  Even while avoiding Gallagher’s eye contact, Mickey still felt the full force of whatever effect he had over him when he looked into his eyes. A chill ricocheted through Mickey’s spine when he finally met those eyes. At first, he was prepared to go along with him… But there was no way he was going to let this guy convince him that he didn’t see what he  _ abso-fucking-lutely  _ saw.

"No." Mickey replied simply, setting his jaw in defiance.

The green in his eyes blazed. "Please, Mickey."

"Why?" He demanded.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.

Mickey could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," Mickey repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift the van far enough away to bring the stretchers in.  Only when the EMTs showed up did Ian allow Mickey to stand.  Ian vehemently refused his stretcher, and Mickey did the same.  Still, they insisted that Mickey go to the hospital to get checked out. Ian, the traitor, even shared that Mickey had hit his head. Though his head did ache, Mickey had zero interest in getting poked or prodded when he had answers to find.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived just as the EMTs  were giving up on insisting that Mickey needed to be seen. 

"Mickey!" he yelled in panic, practically tossing students aside to tear through the crowd.

"I’m fine, Charlie," Mickey sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."  Instead of listening to him, or asking him any questions about what he was feeling, the chief turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion, which Mickey loudly objected to. No one was listening to him, and Mickey had to look away in agitation. 

Within his line of vision, he caught sight of the rest of the Gallaghers who crowded around Ian’s Volvo with expressions between disapproval and fury — no concern for their brother’s safety or fear for the accident that almost claimed two lives found on their faces. Mickey’s brows furrowed in confusion. What kind of siblings would witness their brother getting almost flattened like a pancake and would look… angry? They didn’t even make their way over to them…

Charlie demanded Mickey’s attention by grabbing his arm, which Mickey immediately jerked at. He yanked his way out of Charlie’s hold but his guardian verbally insisted.

“Get in the ambulance, Mickey,” Charlie ordered. Mickey’s brows furrowed again.

“Why? I’m fine!”

“You might have a concussion,” Ian perked up. Mickey flashed his line of sight to him and glared. He wanted to shoot back  _ and your shoulder and wrists must be fuckin killin you but I don’t see  _ you  _ being threatened with a gurney.  _ But he remembered their deal and stayed silent with an eyeroll.

“I don’t need an ambulance. Nothing’s broken, nothing’s bleeding.” The adults around him looked like they were going to continue arguing so Mickey blurted before they got the chance, “I’ll ride with you, Charlie, but the ambulance ain’t necessary.”

Charlie grimaced but turned to thank the EMTs for their help, effectively dismissing them. Mickey realized Charlie must have quite some sway in this community for the EMTs to not even be irritated that they were dismissed like that.

Mickey followed Charlie’s lead to the cruiser and piled into the passenger seat with an aggravated huff.

“You really don’t think you were hurt?” Charlie asked in disbelief.

“I’m following conversation, my speech is not slurred, and I’m walking without any dizziness. I’m fine,” Mickey insisted. Charlie still didn’t look convinced, even looked a little irritated with Mickey. But Mickey wasn’t sorry; he wasn’t going to let anyone treat him like he was on his deathbed when he wasn’t.

They were silent on the rest of the drive to the ER.

At the emergency room, they placed him in one of a long line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. Charlie had to go fill out a shit ton of paperwork which he needed his phone to complete since he didn’t have any of Mickey’s information on him, so he was in the waiting room completing those forms. 

A nurse silently took his temperature and blood pressure and he was grateful that there were no questions. Mickey had been to a lot of places in his life, but mercifully he’d always been able to avoid hospitals. He wasn’t sure what the ERs were like in Chicago, but he had a suspicion that they weren’t as nice as this one — relatively quiet, pleasantly decorated, not over-crowded if only due to the difference in the citys’ populations.

The nurse left the curtain open for any ole person to recognize him and the gratefulness he’d initially felt toward her shifted to irritation along with his mood towards everyone.

He wasn’t alone for long, though. The kid Mickey finally recognized as Tyler from government class was rolled in to the bed next to him. He wore bloodstained bandages at the top of his head and down the side of his cheek and Mickey suddenly felt oddly guilty. His head hurt just a little, but it was nothing Tylenol and a Jack chaser couldn’t fix. Tyler caught Mickey’s eyes and immediately struggled against the hands of three nurses to sit up.

"Mickey, I'm so sorry!"  He cried, guilt and anguish so evident in his voice that Mickey could almost hear his vocal cords snap with the effort of choking the words out.

"I'm fine, Tyler — you look like shit, though... are  _ you  _ all right?" The nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek. He ignored Mickey’s question. 

"I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me," Mickey pointed out gently, lightly even. At that, Tyler furrowed his brow.

"Right… How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm… Gallagher pulled me out of the way." Would it be revealing too much? Surely that wouldn’t violate the deal he’d made with Gallagher; it was the truth, after all.  Tyler looked confused. 

"Who?"

"Ian Gallagher — he was standing next to me." He threw in the last part for good measure. If he said it with enough conviction, hell maybe he might even believe it. The nurses left Tyler and moved over to Mickey and before either of them could reach out and touch him Mickey insisted, “I’m _fine_.”

"Gallagher? I didn't see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"  Over the flurrying nurses, Mickey spat out his reply.

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but  I haven’t seen him yet ."

So Tyler hadn’t seen Gallagher either. But while Tyler was willing to accept that he’d not seen it right or that everything was normal, Mickey was not that type of sucker. He knew he wasn’t crazy but he knew he’d just seen something crazy, remarkable even. There was no way to explain what he’d seen and yet he knew it was true. Gallagher was down on the other side of the parking lot when Tyler’d come racing around the school and had somehow gotten over to him, and not only that but also came out undamaged when he stopped the vehicle with his hands and shoulder. And it was right then that Mickey knew he’d  _ never  _ be able to openly accuse Ian of anything related to this… He sounded crazy enough in his own head, he didn’t need to be viewed as crazy by the rest of the town. But he still couldn’t let it go… 

After a round of x-rays he was cleared of any and all concerns surrounding head or brain damage. His head did still hurt a little but he knew right where the painkillers were in the Swan household — second shelf in the bathroom cabinet.

Despite the confirmation that he was fine, apparently he had to be seen by a doctor. Utter bullshit if anyone asked Mickey, but then no one would ask Mickey because no one had asked his opinion thus far in the process.

As soon as he returned to the line of hospital beds, back in his spot to Tyler’s left, his classmate picked up again with the apologies and promises to do his homework or fix up his truck or do anything else Mickey needed — all he had to do was say the word, according to Tyler, and it would be done. Despite Mickey interrupting him several times to tell him that all was cool and they didn’t need to play the “life-debt slave” game from grade school, Tyler kept insisting and going on. So Mickey pulled the curtain to his right halfway around his bed, effectively cutting Tyler off and giving him the hint — no more. Mickey closed his eyes because as thrilling as the view of the room was before the curtain was shut, it was even less so with the curtain closing him off from half of the hospital.

"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked  only moments later . Mickey’s eyes flew open.

Ian was standing at the foot of the bed, smirking. Mickey glared at him.  Though his brain had a little short-circuit when he took in his face, just like it did every time he looked at his face, Mickey was able to keep up the intense look of irritation without much challenge. Though his instinct was telling him that all should be forgiven with Ian Gallagher, another instinct came along to beat that one down and call it moronic for being such a pushover for a pretty face. A pretty face to someone who was a major dick at that.

"Hey, Ian, I'm really sorry —" Tyler began.

Ian lifted a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing a row of perfect  teeth  in a brilliant smile . He  pulled back the curtain as he moved to sit on the edge of Tyler's bed, facing Mickey. He smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asked.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," Mickey complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," he answered with a noncommittal shrug. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and  Mickey’s eyes popped wide open . She was young, brunette,  and could have easily been mistaken for a movie star or top model . She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Ian's sister.

"So, Mister Milkovich," Dr. Gallagher said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Mickey said, hopefully for the last time.

She walked to the lightboard on the wall over Mickey’s head, and turned it on.  Mickey didn’t even bother to crane his neck, they’d already shown him that everything was clear, he didn’t need to see it again.

"Your X-rays look good," She said. "Does your head hurt? Ian said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," Mickey repeated  for the twentieth time,  throwing a quick scowl toward Ian.

The doctor's cool fingers  suddenly  probed lightly along his skull  and Mickey jumped at the sudden contact. He did not liked to be touched, especially not when he wasn’t expecting it . She  took the initial start in stride but noticed when he winced at a particular spot along the right side .

"Tender?" She asked.

"Not  especially ."  Mickey grumbled. He’d had  much  worse  working with Daddy Dearest .

A chuckle  sounded from the peanut gallery at the foot of his bed , and Mickey looked over to see Ian's patronizing smile. Mickey’s eyes narrowed.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all." He didn’t even bother to correct her when she called Charlie his “father.” Her voice was even more soothing than Ian’s, Mickey thought instead; perfect for an ER doc. Though Ian’s voice might have been more on par with Dr. Gallagher’s had he not been so incredibly irritating all of the fuckin time.

"Can't I go back to school?" Mickey asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive  if he were ordered on bedrest .

"Maybe you should take it easy today,”  Dr. Gallagher suggested kindly.

Mickey  gestured to Ian. " I bet he get to go to school,"  he pointed out, though he sounded more petulant than logical and he sounded annoying to his own ears.

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Ian said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Gallagher corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

" Jesus.. ," Mickey groaned,  covering and pinching at his eyes in irritation .

Dr. Gallagher raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" He replied  instantly and  a little too cheerily, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly, apparently — he staggered, and Dr. Gallagher caught him  with frigid yet gentle and firm hands . She looked concerned  but held fast even as Mickey tried to jerk his arm away from her freezing skin .

“Christ! You  _ work  _ to uphold the doctor-with-cold-hands stereotype?” It came out before he could censor himself and he almost felt bad at his rudeness except she and Ian both erupted into laughter.

“It’s a med-school prerequisite,” Dr. Gallagher joked back, not missing a beat. Mickey deflated a little in relief that he hadn’t offended, gently pulling his arm back this time.

"I'm fine," He assured her again.  She turned to flip the xRay illuminator off and retrieved the film, turning back with a kind and patient smile.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," She suggested  by way of farewell .

"That was the plan," Mickey snipped, realizing only after it came out just how harsh it sounded. He sighed, eyes closed as he gathered himself. “I’m sorry. Yes, that’s what I’ll do when I get home.” Dr. Gallagher just smiled warmly, not looking slightly phased by Mickey’s previous tone. 

Ian’s cocky grin was starting to piss Mickey off, and something told him that the redhead was going to try getting out of talking to him like he promised.

" You know… It’s  lucky Ian happened to be standing next to me,"  Mickey mentioned casually  with a hard glance  as he walked by the subject in question. Ian visibly stiffened but Dr. Gallagher seemed hardly phased.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Gallagher  mumbled, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. "It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Gallagher  agreed , smiling as she signed Mickey’s chart with a flourish.  Mickey was about to try prompting her further to finally get someone to acknowledge how… fucking  _ crazy  _ this thing was, but she looked away, turning her full attention on her next patient, Tyler.  Mickey’s intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.  He wanted to meet Doc’s eyes but she was clearly doing everything in her power to avoid it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," she said to Tyler, and began checking his cuts. Mickey worked to school his expression, not wanting to give away to Tyler that something weird was going on here. Mickey turned to face Ian who was glaring at him, apparently not appreciative of the hints Mickey dropped just a moment ago.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Mickey hissed under his breath. He didn’t move for a brief moment, just glaring at him as though Mickey was either the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen or the most annoying, and took a step back  to let Mickey by , his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth as he walked beside Mickey through the door .

" And yet a five minute fucking wait won’t hurt him ," Mickey pressed.

Ian guided them down a long hallway away from the waiting room and any lingering people and whirled on him.

"What do you want?" he demanded, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.  Mickey’s brows furrowed at this mood change. Was he really  _ that  _ pissed at what Mickey had implied back there? Seemed like overkill for something that Tyler didn’t even pick up on...

"You owe me an explanation," Mickey reminded him.

"I saved your life — I owe you  no thing." Mickey’s brows shot up.

“Bullshit you don’t!” He hissed, fighting to keep his voice down. Ian’s brows raised to reflect Mickey’s expression. He couldn’t lie to himself, the callous tone Ian used with him not only shocked him but stung a little bit. And that realization pissed him off more than Gallagher trying to convince him he was crazy or full of shit. “I know what the fuck I saw but you’re tellin me it’s not right, but I  _ know. _ And yeah, it sounds fuckin insane but it doesn’t make it not true —”

"Mickey,”  Ian interrupted, the patronizing calmness of his tone pissing Mickey off more. “You hit your head,.. You don't  even know what you're  saying ." The flaming heat of rage scoured through his limbs… He wanted to punch him.

"There's nothing wrong with my head!" This time he shouted, forgetting where they were for a moment. Ian shushed him harshly and Mickey couldn’t even blame him, but even so he shushed him back just to be petulant. A light of amusement danced in Ian’s bright forest green eyes, but the set of his mouth was still firm, straight, angry.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the hallway. "What do you want from me, Mickey?" He sounded tired, maybe a little defeated.

“The truth, to start," Mickey seethed. " Then for you to quit actin like I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, like I’m some fuckin’ child or a dumbass. I know what I saw but I  _ need  _ an explanation of what the fuck happened because it makes no goddamned sense!”

"What do you think happened?" he snapped.

It came out in a rush.

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me — Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all …" Mickey could hear how crazy it sounded  but he  _ knew  _ it was true and was not going to be deterred from sharing the story  _ as it happened. _

His expression was incredulous, conveying with his eyes just how ridiculous Mickey sounded. But Mickey was aware of how insane he sounded and didn’t give a flying fuck. Because it was the truth.

"You think I  pushed a van  to keep it from crushing you?"  Ian half laughed, h is tone  clearly questioned Mickey’s sanity, but it only  raised Mickey’s suspicions more. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

Mickey nodded once, jaw tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision now.

" That’s not a denial, " Mickey pointed out. Ian shifted uncomfortably, apparently figuring out that Mickey’s stubborn nature could combat even his. Ian looked like he was warring with himself over something important and it pulled at Mickey for some reason. Whatever the fuck happened, Ian had fucked up somewhow. Almost as quickly as it had come, his anger dissipated. “Look, man… I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"

" Because I’m not a dumbass and I won’t be treated like one,” Mickey insisted. Ian assessed him, almost looking impressed, though Mickey couldn’t have guessed for what. They were silent for a long time, Mickey working with all his might to fight the urge to concede and Ian just… watching him.

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?" He asked as gently as those words could sound.

“ Can’t you give me a straight fuckin answer? I already told you I won’t say anything to anyone…”

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" Ian blurted, annoyance darkening his tone again.

"No," Mickey confirmed in a matching tone. Ian assessed him one more time, giving him a once-over. If Mickey didn’t know better, he’d say Ian was sizing him up like deciding if he could take him in a fight… But the eyes were too soft; they didn’t hold the promise of violence that Mickey could spot in anyone from a mile away by this stage in his life.

"Well in that case I hope you enjoy disappointment," Ian replied easily, one brow arched as though daring Mickey to press him again. When Mickey didn’t answer, Ian stepped around him to leave. Mickey grimaced to himself, leaning against the wall as his brain surged for something to say — a wise-crack, a final zinger… But he couldn’t think of one.

"Why did you even bother?” He heard himself call out. He could almost hear Gallagher’s fancy Italian leather shoes screech against the squeaky tile. He whirled around at about the same time that Ian did.

“What?” Ian demanded.

“You heard me,” Mickey pressed. His eyes held what almost looked like betrayal of some sort… He was offended by the question and Mickey was struck by the vulnerability there. They stared at each other in a less tense, warmer silence.

"I don't know," he  finally murmured before turning on his heel and walking away .

Mickey stared after him feeling… God, more confused than he’d ever felt before. What  _ the fuck  _ was that guy hiding? That van should have crushed them both, there was simply no way around it. The image of the dents in the vehicles was burned behind Mickey’s eyelids as he racked his brain for a logical explanation — though he knew there was none. Long after Ian had disappeared Mickey finally huffed an irritated breath and returned to the waiting room where, indeed, half the school was camped out along with Mickey’s guardian.

“I’m fine!” Mickey shouted over the questions barreling out of everyone at once.

“Mickey! We were so worried!” Angela cried, reaching for a hug to which Mickey held up defensive hands.

“No need for all that, I’m fine.” His tone was harsh and he knew it but he wasn’t sorry. With everyone crowding around him Mickey felt like he was losing oxygen. How could there be enough to go around in this teensy square of space when twenty people were breathing the same air? “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Mickey finally shouted as more and more people pushed through to give their sentiments.

“Alright, alright, kids. Give him room,” Charlie called over the din, cutting through the crowd with an arm in front of him. Everyone obeyed the police chief and spread back.

“What happened, Mickey?” Eric asked, still standing a little closer than Mickey wanted. Mickey rolled his eyes behind his eyelids, annoyed that he was actually going with the stupid story Ian had provided earlier.

“Gallagher pulled me out of the way.”

“But —”

“Jesus, can I go home now?” Mickey demanded of no one in particular, effectively putting an end to all incessant questions and worrying.

“Yeah, bud. Let’s go,” Charlie murmured just loud enough for Mickey to hear. He held an arm open but didn’t touch, guiding Mickey through the crowd of teenagers.

“Rest up, Mickey!” Angela’s voice called behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder but didn’t stop walking and held up a hand in acknowledgement. She was good people, just worried about him, and Mickey was grateful. But Christ, did the entire Junior class have to show up as though they all knew him? He literally only recognized Angela, Eric, Mike, Jessica, and a handful of random kids from his various classes, and even so he didn’t recall their names.

"What did the doctor say?" Charlie asked as they exited the ER, headed for Charlie’s cruiser parked not too far away.

"Dr. Gallagher saw me; said I was fine and to take Tylenol for any pain. " Mickey  replied with a grimace, still not sure what to make of Dr. Gallagher’s reaction to Mickey’s statement… It was as though she wanted to do all she could to avoid recognizing how remarkable this all was.

“God, when I got that call…” Charlie trailed off with a huff, unlocking the cruiser.

“What’d they tell you?” Mickey asked curiously.

“All they’d say is there was an accident in the parking lot…” He sighed again and flashed Mickey a quick glance. “Glad you’re okay,” he murmured. Mickey looked away awkwardly.

“Thanks. Me too,” he mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I do not intend to include much about the Quileutes in this fanfic due to my own ignorance of the culture and much discussed concerns about the misinformation and misrepresentation of this tribe in the original novels, and further my intention to not replicate SM's mistakes by further perpetuating harmful stereotypes and tropes, I do highly encourage my readers to donate to the Quileute Nation if they can. I am planning on donating what I would have spent on Midnight Sun rather than buying the book from a retailer and I encourage you all to do the same, or to donate what you can. I have emailed the chairman of the Quileute tribe to see if there are any other collections they would prefer or that are also viable but for now this is what I've got. I will update this note when I know more.  
https://mthg.org/get-involved/


	6. Amends

_ Mickey found himself surrounded by darkness… The only light in the space was illuminating from Ian’s skin. He couldn’t see Ian’s face, but he somehow still knew it was him by the back of his head; his firey red hair gave it away. Mickey called to him but Ian kept walking. Mickey tried charging after him to continue demanding that he give him answers, but his legs moved in slow motion… like he was running through something incredibly dense, more dense than water or sand. He called out to him to wait but he never turned around, never even acted like he heard him… _

Mickey’s eyes flashed open, his heart racing as though he’d had a nightmare, though what he’d dreamed was more weird rather than frightening.

This was the sixth time he’d dreamed about Ian Gallagher and the dream was always the same. 

Mickey wasn’t one of those people who dissected their dreams to try to find some deep, psychological meaning. But after half a month of this bullshit he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to the idea that the subconscious speaks through dreams, and if so wonder if he could figure out what his subconscious was trying to say — or he’d even settle for figuring out how to get it to shut the fuck up. 

Another two weeks had passed since the almost-accident and things were finally settling down at the school, but apparently Mickey’s brain hadn’t caught the memo and was still stuck on that insufferable person. In class Ian had taken to pretending Mickey didn’t exist unless to participate in a lab activity. While Mickey was grateful for this because that prying curiosity Gallagher had shown had been intensely annoying, It was also incredibly baffling how he was able to lose interest as quickly as he had gained it.

Tyler Crowley insisted on trying to make things up to Mickey, offering to do his homework and clean up the truck. Mickey insisted they were cool but no matter how many times Mickey insisted there was nothing to make up, demanded he leave him alone, or outright ignored him, Tyler kept coming back like a human goddamned boomerang. 

Eric seemed to try his best to leave the topic alone, having noticed how annoyed it made Mickey to have the accident brought up. This alone is what made Mickey prefer Eric over just about any of his new friends. Angela, meanwhile, seemed to want to therapize him, to want him to address his “trauma” and so he started to ignore her too. Mickey had grown up only having his siblings as friends, he knew how to go about his day without worrying about companionship. Still, it was finally getting to a point where Mickey was actually considering accepting Eric’s offer to form a study group. He was doing alright in his classes, if he were forced to give a judgement. It helped that none of the teachers penalized him for missing half the semester or tried to make him complete the same work the other students had done. But that made it harder for him to gauge how he was doing considering he wasn’t sure how much information he was actually absorbing and how much was just… luck.

Through all of the conversations Mickey avoided like the plague, no one mentioned Gallagher. The first couple of times the topic was brought up, Mickey tried to remind the group that Ian was the hero of the situation, but everyone at the lunch table seemed to brush over the comment completely, as though they were disinterested in giving Gallagher any credit or consideration. All that was said on the matter of Ian Gallagher was that he hadn’t been seen anywhere near the van or truck until the van was pulled away.

This was what kept Mickey up at night whenever his thoughts drifted towards the redhead. He knew for a fact that Gallagher had been standing across the damn parking lot and had no earthly chance of reaching him as fast as he did… But he did. And knowing that other students saw the same thing… But being willing to dismiss what they’d seen as some sort of fluke didn’t make him feel any better. In fact it made him angrier at the nerve of Ian Gallagher for hiding and trying to pretend like everything was normal when something absolutely abnormal had taken place. But what pissed him off even more than Ian’s secret and refusal to impart that secret was the fact that Mickey couldn’t get the fucker out of his head. At lunch, he always sat in a seat that faced the Gallagher table across the room so he could keep a subtle eye on the siblings. At first this was an unfortunate coincidence from where everyone else at his table sat first, positioning him in that seat… Then he sat there independent of whether there was a different free seat or not. In biology he side-eyed the freckled fingers that still clench into a white-knuckled fist at random times and thrummed gently against the black table top at others. And then there were these stupid fucking dreams…

Mickey had never been so consumed by someone else. And it pissed him off like nothing else.

Though Mickey had always been a grumpy person in general, he had taken to grumbling and huffing awake, rolling out of bed with curses and tense shoulders from irritation — made worse on the mornings of those dreams. This morning was no exception as he threw back the duvet, shrugged on yesterday’s jeans and a fresh henley from the closet, and huffed down the stairs, skin prickling with irritation. Charlie stood leaning against the counter, mug of coffee in hand.

Mickey’s brows shot up.

“Charlie?” Mickey greeted with a slight question in his tone considering Charlie’s routine usually had him out the door well before Mickey even rolled out of bed, with exception to the days he felt the need to help Mickey chain up the tires on the truck.

“Hey, Mickey. You headed off to bed so early last night that I forgot to tell you…” That was another thing… Without people to hang out with or needing to do anything for probation or to provide for the family Mickey found himself settling into the world’s most boring and depressing routine. School, schoolwork, bed. School, schoolwork, bed. School, schoolwork, bed. Repeat, and repeat, and repeat. Jesus, he was turning into exactly the type of nerd that he and Iggy used to practically terrorize in school just for shits and giggles.

Charlie continued after a sip of coffee, “Your case-worker is coming to check in on you. It’s routine, especially for cases… Such as yours.” 

Cases of confirmed abuse and neglect, he meant to say. Mickey internally rolled his eyes, slightly aggravated that Charlie seemed intent on protecting Mickey from the realities of his own life, as though he hadn’t grown up dealing with painful, unfortunate truths. His father was an abusive piece of shit. Charlie didn’t need to lighten the blow for his comfort.

“It’s routine to check in on someone who’s gonna be legally none of her fuckin business in a few months?” Mickey questioned. Charlie shrugged his shoulders.

“You are her business for now, and long enough that she’s also prepared me for a check-in at the six month mark.” Mickey’s brows rose, eyes probably expressing his annoyance. There was nothing more irritating than being treated like a child when “childhood” had been lost so long ago. He rubbed at the creases in his brow, trying to ease the aggressive expression, but he really couldn’t contain his irritation. He _ hated _being treated like a child.

“So what does this all mean?” Mickey snipped, heading to the fridge to grab the milk and orange juice. Charlie moved out of his way as Mickey continued. “Gonna rifle through my shit to make sure you’re a watchful caretaker and I’m not doing anything ‘bad?’ Check the electrical sockets, and make sure the knives are squared away?”

“Don’t be a smartass, you’re not a toddler and no one expects me to treat you like one,” Charlie returned with a tone that rivaled Mickey’s. Mickey’s brows rose once again, this time in surprise. Charlie rarely returned Mickey’s tone… in fact, Mickey couldn’t recall a time in this first month in his care that Charlie had given a “tone” with him. Mickey brushed the bridge of his nose with a thumb, huffing quietly as he poured a bowl of cereal. Charlie’s eyes softened so visibly Mickey could see it in his periphery. Still, Mickey’s own expression remained hard. He knew that throwing a fit about being checked in on by a social worker wasn’t going to change the fact that _ that’s how these things are done _; but that didn’t mean he couldn’t express his objections the entire way.

He returned his gaze to Charlie but glanced away again at nowhere in particular as his tongue wet his bottom lip before finally responding.

“They’re checkin’ in on a seventeen year old the same as they would a toddler, how should I feel like I’m bein’ treated?”

“Cared about. Looked after. Safe.” Charlie asserted almost immediately. Mickey ripped his eyes away from his guardian, biting his lip as he poured the milk over the sugary squares. Charlie watched Mickey as though waiting for Mickey’s response, but it never came. Charlie sighed. “You know, the check-in is as much for me as it is for you. It’s not punishing you or trying to catch you doing anything wrong. It’s making sure that _ I’m _ treating you the way you should be treated, and making sure that you are overcoming the conditions you came from… That you’re adjusting. It’s a good thing.” 

_ Sure, _Mickey thought resentfully, hating the way that his stomach twisted at the thought of being put under a microscope.

Mickey turned to lean against the counter, cereal bowl in hand, spoon poised halfway to his mouth. Their eyes met for a brief moment, but Mickey had nothing to say and so completed the spoon’s course to his mouth, chewing the cereal while trying to look anywhere but at his guardian. He could feel Charlie’s eyes on him and when he returned the look he recognized no heat in Charlie’s stare… Concern, maybe. 

Mickey huffed a breath and lowered his cereal bowl to show that he was pausing his meal to complete this conversation.

“What exactly is this visit gonna look like?” Mickey asked in a rushed breath.

“Probably ask you about your friends, your classes, if you’ve got any plans to join extracurriculars, about your mood and how you’re liking Forks… Probably ask about our dynamic, our routine… She might take a look around the house — but you’re not a delinquent, Mickey. They’re not looking to bust you for anything.” Mickey narrowly concealed his snarky laugh at being called “not a delinquent.” Mickey was absolutely a textbook case of a delinquent. He’d gone to juvie before; the only reason he wasn’t there now was because he and Terry had been caught together on his last run and the bleeding heart social worker took mercy on him, figuring out that he did the shit he did to appease his abusive, career criminal father.

What Charlie had _ meant _ to say was that Mickey wasn’t _ on probation _. That much was accurate. But to say Mickey Milkovich was “not a delinquent” was an outright lie.

“When’s she gonna be here?” Mickey asked, resuming his breakfast.

“Friday after school. I’m taking the evening off work so that I can hopefully be here when she arrives so you won’t be here by yourself with her.” It was… actually a nice thought, Charlie thinking of him like that. He didn’t even realize how much of the anxiety currently flowing through his limbs and head was due to that very thought until something in his chest released a little bit… like a blood pressure cuff releasing from its tightest setting. Still, something hard rest in the center of his chest, the only emotion coming to mind was dread. Finally, Mickey nodded and raised the bowl to his mouth, draining the milk and sugary contents.

“So?” Charlie prompted. Mickey shrugged.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say to that… I’ll be here when she’s here, I guess,” Mickey allowed. Charlie nodded. They stared at each other for an awkward moment until Charlie just grinned tightly behind his mustache and held up a hand in farewell, leaving Mickey to his morning routine.

He’d finally found time to buy a raincoat and a decent backpack that actually kept his books dry. Charlie had also offered to get Mickey a cell phone but that was where he put his foot down on his generosity. If Mickey wanted anything else he’d get a job, end of story. And it was looking like he was going to have to look for one soon because the truck, as kind as Charlie had been to give it to him, was a real gas-guzzler and Mickey was approaching the end of that $100 gift.

He had also, on Charlie’s reminder, went to the nearest DMV to update his license with his new address. It was… Permanent. This move, it was real. And there was a dwindling number of things remaining that left him feeling like he was intruding on someone else’s life. It was bizarre, knowing he had a ‘home’ in every essence of the word. The only thing missing at this point was Mandy and Iggy and the occasional drop-ins by Jaime and Tony.

Mandy still not picking up weighed on Mickey’s mind. Everything had happened so fast before they were yanked away, and they had been placed separately if only due to Mickey’s record and age, that they weren’t able to talk about any of what led to that point. Her silence sent continuous waves of anxiety through his stomach and chest because he just couldn’t fathom what could be causing it.

He finished getting ready for school quickly, tossing on his new jacket and backpack over his shoulder before grabbing his wallet and keys. For the past few weeks he had been playing it safe to try avoiding stepping on Charlie’s toes, to avoid making trouble for him… But he knew exactly what would settle these nerves and had no idea what his guardian’s reaction would be… 

He stopped to top off the tank at the gas station up the street from the school and as he let the pump do its thing, he bit his lip, desperately wanting a cigarette. This was the longest he’d gone without one since he’d picked up the habit at twelve years old and his nerves were definitely feeling it. Part of him decided to forego trying to get his fix when he went into the store to buy the gas, worried about word getting back to the chief or about picking up the habit again to where withdrawal becomes a factor again. What about his smell? Surely Charlie would notice the sudden acrid stench of nicotine and tar considering how clean his house always smelled and Mickey hadn’t smelled like an ashtray since before he was moved out here.

The clip on the gas pump flipped up, signalling the tank’s fullness and Mickey huffed irritably as he removed the nozzle and replaced the thing on the cradle. Before he could stop himself, he charged back into the store and ordered a pack of Marlboro reds with the easy confidence he always carried, but his voice cracked a little as his brain screamed at him for being stupid. But he mentally screamed back at that voice to shut the fuck up because Mickey had given up literally everything about himself from back home: hadn’t touched a gun, got his fuckin’ license, started doing _ homework, _ didn’t steal the backpack in the passenger seat of the cab of the truck which was _ gifted _to him rather than lifted by himself or his brother. Mickey was doing all the right things here, lately. One vice was not going to fucking tarnish his acclimation or his latest adjustment to becoming a “good kid.”

When the clerk smacked the paper box on the counter, Mickey slid a BIC lighter next to it as a silent request to ring it up too. He _ knew _this was stupid. This was gas money that he’d have to at some point ask for or scrape together somehow… But he also couldn’t really find it within himself to worry about it at that moment. As soon as he was out the door he had a filter between his lips and the flame from the shiny new dark green BIC igniting the end. Smoke raced into his mouth and he sucked it right down his throat and into his lungs, humming appreciatively right before exhaling slowly.

“Yes,” Mickey sighed to himself, relieved to finally have something that made him feel a little more himself, and also that would take the edge off his nerves. He smoked as he walked to the truck and as he drove to the school, feeling his stomach steadily settle with each inhale and exhale.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and stuck the extinguished butt back into the pack, planning on throwing the whole thing out when it was done, butts and all so as to not leave any trails behind. He slid the BIC and Marlboros in a small pocket at the front of his backpack and sat in comfortable silence for a moment, just enjoying the nicotine doing its work. Mere moments later, however, a _ tap-tap-tap _rapped at the driver’s side window and startled him a little, his muscles going taut as his brain raced to figure out what maneuver he would likely need before his eyes registered Eric standing at the door with a grimace on his face. Mickey rolled his eyes and rolled down the window.

“You know this is kind of the opposite of a drive thru, right?” Mickey snarked. Eric didn’t react at all to his joke, which was strange because Eric usually laughed boisterously at all of Mickey’s jokes, whether they were actually _ that _ funny or not.

“Did I see you smoking?” Eric demanded. Mickey couldn’t contain his scoffing, huff of a laugh.

“I’ve been smoking since I was twelve, man,” Mickey declared with zero shame. “This past month has been the longest I’ve gone without a smoke, be proud o’ me that I didn’t start back up sooner.”

“You know that smoking — ”

“All concerns for people who think they’ll live past their thirties,” Mickey shot back before he could get the lecture. They made tense eye contact, Eric clearly at a loss for what to say and Mickey willing him to drop it. “I might not be book smart, but I’m not a moron. I know the risks and I’m doin’ it anyway. Sue me.” 

Mickey opened the door to the truck and dragged his backpack out with him, slugging it over his shoulder as he shut the door. Eric’s eyes filled with sadness.

“Mickey — ”

“Thanks for lookin’ out, bud… but I’m good.” Mickey interrupted again, patting him on the shoulder and charging off to building Three.

Eric followed behind in silence until they got to their classroom.

“Thirties?” he murmured, sounding distraught. Mickey dropped his bag in his seat and turned around to face his friend who, though being a little irritating at the moment, was insanely sweet for caring so much.

“Don’t go thinkin’ you know dick about me, man. I may’ve told you why I’ve got my tattoos and the general reasons why I’m here, but that ain’t my life story. Thirties was always the goal, the way I was livin’, alright? An’ I don’t expect you to understand that and I don’t feel like explainin’ it, so can we just…” 

“It’s dropped,” Eric promised. Mickey stared at him for a long moment, watching Eric fidget with himself as he seemed to wrestle with his innate, caring nature to want to look after for Mickey’s safety while also wanting to respect Mickey’s intelligence and autonomy. Finally, Mickey nodded and moved his bag to the floor so he could assume his seat. They sat in more awkward silence, waiting for class to start, but the air between them was almost tangible with the discomfort, so Mickey finally decided to throw him a bone.

“Hey, so…” Eric turned to face him, brows raising expectantly. “I was kinda thinking… about your offer to have a study group…”

“Yeah?” Eric grinned broadly. Mickey nodded.

“Yeah, I… Well, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing to prepare for midterms so…”

“You’ve never taken a midterm before?” Eric questioned in a discrete whisper. Mickey grimaced but shook his head ‘no.’ “Oh… Well, it’s basically a test for everything we’ve learned, you know?” Mickey huffed, again with acting like Mickey was stupid just because this experience was new.

“I know that much, and that’s the problem… I came here in the middle of the semester, remember?” Eric’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh! Oh my God, yes! I totally understand what you’re saying now. Yes! I can definitely help you get caught up!

“Thanks,” Mickey murmured, cheeks flushing at how over the fucking moon the guy was to help him. He knew he needed to get used to asking for help, but after growing up not being able to ask for anything, much less for help with school work, this was beyond bizarre.

Mr. Mason entered the classroom and launched directly into calling attendance, officially, rather than awkwardly, ending the conversation with Eric.

At class change Eric started gushing about what their study sessions could look like: with lots of snacks for “brain food” and sodas for the caffeine, Eric’s dining room table or maybe Mickey’s, no TV, no phones, no distractions, and so on and so on. 

As they walked, though, Mickey couldn’t help but notice that Jessica, who usually joined them for their walk to the next building, was side-eyeing Mickey… But not in an angry or suspicious way… It was almost flirtatious. He furrowed his brows.

“Mickey?” Eric asked cautiously, and Mickey realized he’d zoned out.

“Oh, yeah; no TV, no phones, no distractions.” Eric’s brows furrowed and his eyes held a little hurt as his mouth sank into a frown.

“I’d asked what kind of toppings you like on pizza…”

Oops, awkward…

“So, you and Mickey formed a little study group?” Jessica asked in her most eccentrically bubbly voice.

“Uh, yeah, Jess… Mickey said he wanted a bit of —”

Mickey shot Eric a look practically screaming ‘can you _ not?’ _

“Uh…” Eric cut himself off. “I mean, _ we _figured, it’d be a smart choice… Work together to fill in some blanks and stuff before the midterms.” Mickey arched the brow facing Eric so he could see the sarcastic ‘nice save’ written on his face.

“Oh, I see,” Jessica sniffed. “And I guess there’s a reason you guys didn’t think to invite, say, _ moi _?” Eric and Mickey exchanged a look with matching frowns and furrowed brows.

“Uh, no… Do you _ want _to study with us?” Mickey asked, suddenly struck by the bizarre mundanity that he’d never thought he’d be involved in. Stupid petty friendship spats over plans because someone feels excluded for some stupid reason.

“Well of course! I mean, the more the merrier and smarter, right?” Jess giggled. 

“I… guess?” Mickey mumbled. They’d arrived to Mickey’s and Jessica’s classroom, leaving Eric awkwardly trying to move on to his next class but not ready to leave the conversation.

“Can we pick this up later, guys? It’s just — ”

“Yeah, yeah, you go, man,” Mickey assured. Eric smiled, flushing a little bit, and carried on to his class. A little guilt settled in Mickey’s stomach at that expression. He’d hoped his gaydar was just… off or that he was making an assumption because people being nice to him was so unusual… But it was becoming increasingly apparent that Eric had a crush on him. And Mickey could honestly say the feelings weren’t returned. _ Fuck. _This was not the kind of bullshit Mickey had ever expected to get wrapped up in, so he was officially clueless.

“So, we should invite the whole gang, right?” Jessica continued, walking into the classroom as though expecting Mickey was simply following behind. 

“The… gang?” Mickey returned awkwardly.

“Yeah! You, me, Eric, Tyler, Mike, Angela… Everybody!”

“Don’t you think it might turn into something else if we do that?” Mickey mumbled, sliding his bag to the immediate left of his desk. Jessica, as always, parked it in the seat next to him as though they were best friends and that was her natural spot.

“No! I think if we all meet somewhere with a nice big table that’ll let us spread our stuff out we’ll keep each other in line!” Jessica insisted excitedly. Mickey arched a brow. So far he’d always studied alone, and while he couldn’t know for sure how that was working for him so far, he felt like his method was working well enough. Including Eric was merely a security blanket.

“Whatever you say,” Mickey sighed as the instructor called the first name on the roll, effectively starting class.

In the middle of class, a folded piece of notebook paper slapped on Mickey’s desk. He didn’t startle easily, so his reaction was muted though his heart jumped the teeniest bit in his chest.

He looked to his left where Jessica waggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile. He furrowed his brows and turned back to the note which he promptly unfolded. He was just about to verbally answer Jessica when Mr. Varner called on him.

“Have anything interesting to share with the class, Mr. Milkovich?” His brow shifted again to illustrate his surprise.

“Definitely not,” Mickey replied tersely. Jessica’s face fell the slightest bit.

“I think you can let the class be the judge of that!” Mr. Varner replied with _ way _ too much excitement. Mickey swallowed his retort. _ Was this dude serious? _ Mickey’d heard of these moments on TV but he’d always thought they were absurd, that no teacher would ever _ actually _ask someone to read a note or a text aloud in class.

Mickey licked the corner of his bottom lip before clenching both lips together tight, aggravation seeping into his muscles.

“Mr. Milkovich?” Mr. Varner prompted. He sat back in his chair defiantly, brow arched to harden said defiance. Mr. Varner narrowed his eyes and started to march over to Mickey’s seat by the door, so Mickey balled up the paper and in a flash tossed the wadded up humiliation into the garbage.

“Fine. Detention, Mr. Milkovich.” Mr. Varner declared. Behind closed lids, Mickey rolled his eyes. He was probably going to give him detention anyway, he was just mad now that he lost his chance to humiliate a student, the fuckin’ prick.

Jessica raised her hand.

“Mr. Varner! Please don’t punish Mickey, it was _ my _note, I passed it to him!”

“You can join him then, Miss Stanley,” he replied easily, though with the same tense anger in his voice.

Jessica glanced to him with a look that almost said ‘you’re welcome.’ Mickey furrowed his brows again and returned to his book, shaking his head.

After class, Jessica waited for Mickey as usual as he packed up his book.

“I really am sorry I got you in trouble, Mickey,” Jessica murmured.

“Oh, don’t blame yourself, Miss Stanley,” Mr. Varner called from his desk. Mickey peered around Jessica’s body as she turned to face their teacher. Mickey was sure his face held a look of bewilderment and a little disgust. “Mickey is going to detention for disobeying an instructor and disrupting class. And that behavior is on _ him.” _

Again Mickey closed his eyes to roll them behind closed lids, not wanting to get another day of detention.

“Um, okay, anyway….” Jessica grumbled even quieter, turning back to Mickey who had stood up by this point and was turning toward the door. “I… I guess that just kind of answered my question, huh?” She laughed awkwardly.

“I mean, it’s not like it was going to be a ‘yes’ before,” Mickey arched a brow. Her face really did fall this time.

“Oh?”

“What, is that a shock to you?” Mickey asked a little cruelly. He basically tolerated Jessica by this point, was she really blissfully unaware of that?

“Well, I mean, Tyler said —” Mickey stopped short in the hallway.

“Tyler?”

A kid behind Mickey bumped into him from the sudden stop. When Mickey turned to excuse himself the kid shrank back and rushed away, once again inspiring a furrowed brow from Mickey. Even without anyone here knowing fuck all about his family connections or his past kids were scared of him.

“Yeah… He said that you wanted me to ask you to the dance, but that since it’s ladies’ choice that I had to ask… Did he get that wrong?” She asked sadly. Mickey rolled his eyes openly this time.

“Yeah… Yeah, he got that wrong. He’s just still trying to make the accident up to me,” Mickey grumbled. _ Even though I’ve told him a million fucking times that he didn’t need to. _

“Do you just not like dances, or…?” Her eyes still held glimmers of hope, the brown irises like molten chocolate in the fluorescent light.

He wanted to tell her he didn’t like _ her. _But from the vulnerable look in her eye, the way she was practically begging him for a chance somewhere down the line, he just couldn’t. She reminded him of Mandy when she gets rejected. 

Jessica was _ so _not the first friend he wanted to come out to.

“I uh…” He blew out a sharp breath through mostly closed lips. She looked especially nervous now. “I’m just not goin,’ okay? Let’s leave it at that,” Mickey insisted.

“Oh… Okay,” Jessica murmured, dejected. 

The girl didn’t exactly tear at Mickey’s heartstrings or anything. He didn’t feel particularly bad about turning down a date he had absolutely no interest in having. He just felt so damned uncomfortable at the thought of maybe telling someone like _ Jessica _ about himself before, well, someone actually like him. The thought of telling _ any _ girl for the sake of turning down an advance didn’t sit right with him either. Maybe if he were already _ out _it would feel different.

Jessica hung back after that, he didn’t see her until she walked into their next class well after him, sitting roughly three seats away. Mickey rolled his eyes at the dramatics of it all, but tried his best to pay attention since he had a midterm coming up for _ this _class too, and he had a feeling he’d just lost his only study buddy for that one.

Lunch was five times more awkward between Jessica working her hardest to avoid any conversation including Mickey and glaring at Tyler whenever it did. Eric also was acting strange, pulling that almost dejected act that Jessica had played when the original study plans were not including her… Only this time because the plans included everyone, nevermind that the genius hadn’t caught on to the fact that this supposed plan hadn’t been brought up by either Jessica or Mickey and therefore no one else knew about it.

Tyler, on the other hand, wasn’t completely checked out of the group vibes, walking over to Mickey’s seat as the table cleared.

“What’s going on with you, Jessica, and Eric?” he blurted. There wasn’t a hint of accusation in his voice, yet Mickey knew better. Tyler wanted to know why he’d turned down Jessica, since it was so obvious.

“What’s going on with you tellin’ people I don’t like that I want them to ask me to the dance?” Tyler had the nerve to roll his eyes.

“C’mon, man, I’ve gotta make it up to you somehow!”

“And I’ve told you there’s nothin’ to make _ up _,” Mickey repeated for probably the fifth time. 

“I coulda killed you, man,” Tyler whispered dramatically.

“Last I checked — ” Mickey mimed checking out his limbs and patted down his torso in mock fear. “I’m in one piece.” He glared up in Tyler’s eyes. “Seriously, bro. Cool it with the repayment act. I wasn’t mad about the accident, but you’re pissin’ me off with this…” he was trying to be nice, but at this point ‘nice’ didn’t seem to be getting him far, “bullshit,” he concluded. Tyler’s brows furrowed.

“Trying to make up for almost hitting you with my van is bullshit?”

“After I’ve told you a million times that you don’t have to? Yeah. Especially bringing someone else into it. I don’t like Jessica or anythin’, but that’s fuckin’ bullshit, she didn’t do anything.”

“Fine… I guess I’ll butt out,” Tyler muttered. “Sorry to _ inconvenience _you,” he grumbled sarcastically. A light flush of heat rushed through Mickey’s arms and across his cheeks and he had to clench his hands into fists to center that energy before he did something or said something stupid. Tyler turned on his heel with a huff and a shake of his head, presumably making his way to his next class. 

Mickey dragged his fingers down his face, squeezing the corners of his eyes and then the bridge of his nose as he slowly but harshly exhaled a deep, deep breath. When he finally reopened his eyes, who was in his line of sight but Gallagher… staring at him with a perplexed look on his face… Almost frustrated. Mickey raised his brows at him and shook his head lightly in a “can I fucking help you?” gesture. Gallagher’s face actually… softened before he shrugged and turned to walk to biology.

  
  


Mike was waiting for him outside the classroom.

“Dude, what’s up with you and Jess?” he blurted as soon as Mickey was within eyesight, all the fuckin’ way down the hallway. Mickey openly rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, is this _ really _any of anyone else’s business?” Mickey called back, not even caring who all heard — though the hall wasn’t exactly full of attentive ears as everyone rushed to their classroom before the bell. Mike held up his hands.

“Naw, naw, I mean… I figured she’d ask _ you! _ So… I mean, thanks an’ all, ‘cause now _ I _get to go with her but…” Mickey nodded, figuring it out, and snorted a little laugh.

“I don’ wanna go, that a crime?”

“I mean, hey, your loss can be my gain, I won’t knock it,” Mike smirked. Mickey rolled his eyes and slipped past him into the classroom.

“So, you’re just not goin’ at all?” Mike questioned.

“Dancin’s not really my thing,” Mickey replied shortly, parking it in his stool and effectively ending the conversation with Mike just as the bell rang.

With the bell, Mr. Banner launched into his lecture which was primarily review of what they had been discussing all week so far, so Mickey mostly tuned it out, trying that ‘clear your mind’ hippie-dippie bullshit he’d been told to try by so many court-appointed counselors and social workers before.

It was surprisingly easy for Mickey to empty his thoughts, though he didn’t exactly find it relaxing. It was actually unnerving… feeling almost lightheaded with the practice. _ Okay, fuck that then, _ he groaned internally and opened his eyes back up. Out of his periphery, a pair of black eyes were once again drilling holes in the side of his face. Mickey shot Gallagher a look.

“Fuckin’ what?” he whispered aggressively. Ian’s brow tweaked upward on one side and after a brief pause they relaxed as his lips formed a sarcastic smile. Mickey rolled his eyes and returned his full attention to the teacher.

Gallagher, however, did not avert his attention.

“Mr. Gallagher?” Banner called. Ian reluctantly turned to face the front, or so Mickey could tell from his periphery.

“The Krebs Cycle,” Ian replied, answering a question that Mickey hadn’t even picked up that Banner had asked.

Mr. Banner nodded, satisfied; but not so satisfied that he refrained from the request that Ian keep his eyes forward to show he was paying attention. Mickey snorted quietly to himself at the chidding.

Mickey didn't even wait for Mike, Angela, or Eric. Today had been one irritation after another. With the tension of the day knotting in his back, he was practically itching for another nicotine fix. He simply blended in with the student body milling and seething through the teensy campus and curved around the back of the gym, locating a back door that seemed to connect to the stairway leading to the locker rooms. Comfortably alone, Mickey thread his arm out of the loop of one of the backpack straps, allowing the pack to swing on the single strap toward his chest. Clutching it to his torso, he rummaged, single-handed, in the front pocket, and with a practiced flare flipped the carton's top open, shifting the box so a single filter lifted from the rest. In a fluid motion, he pulled the filter free from the pack with his lips and ignited the end with the lighter he'd tucked away in the pack.

The smoke instantly filled his mouth and he pulled it into his lungs with a practiced breath. The knots in his back instantly smoothed with the reassurance of the nicotine's coming presence. A small smile even lifted on one side of his mouth before he released the smoke-filled breath in a plume.

"Mickey?" His voice shouldn't have been so familiar… Mickey’s molars ground together, clenching his jaw, the frustration with not only this irritating day but now also with himself was simply getting to be too much.

Mickey didn’t even bother turning around, just continued the long drag that he’d started before Gallagher decided to show up like a fuckin’ creeper.

“What?” Mickey groaned, finally turning around. “You speaking to me again?” he scoffed. Ian had the decency to look a little embarrassed by the juvenile cold shoulder he’d been giving him for the past two weeks. But that embarrassment turned to a look of amusement in a flash.

“No, not really,” he admitted, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. This fuckin’... 

Mickey closed his eyes and rolled them behind the closed lids before quickly turning back around, returning his attention to his cigarette.

“Then what the fuck do you want, Gallagher?” Mickey questioned, irritation bubbling in his voice as it rumbled in his chest. Once again, Gallagher had the decency to visibly acknowledge how fucked up this was.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, tone sincere. “I know I’m being rude, but I promise, it’s not without good reason.” Mickey’s brows shot up and a scalding, scathing type of breath of a laugh punched out of his chest.

“Good reason… M’kay, sure,” Mickey grumbled to himself.

“It’s just… It’s better that we’re not friends,” Gallagher continued, voice actually cracking. “Trust me.”

“Trust you,” Mickey mouthed to himself. “Isn’t that what you said when you promised to tell me how you stopped that van?” He shot back, trying to sound disinterested rather than annoyed (and, okay, yes, maybe a little angry), but knowing he failed. Ian scratched at the back of his neck.

“There are some things that you just don’t need to know…”

“If you told me you’d have to kill me? That it?” Mickey mocked. Gallagher’s eyes hardened. “Well, if you really felt that way, why’d you even bother? Why didn’t you just let Tyler crush me with his van?” Give him something real to feel bad about.

“Excuse me?” Ian breathed. Mickey’s brows shot up at the reaction.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve? Maybe caught on that you’re regretting the whole thing, even?”

Gallagher’s mouth simply dropped, disbelief, maybe even disgust, darkening his features.

“You think I regret saving your life?” Mickey simply shrugged. He didn’t genuinely believe that Gallagher gave a shit one way or the other. But this hot ‘n’ cold bullshit was getting old quickly and Mickey was running out of patience to tolerate it.

“You know… I never really did get a thank you,” Ian practically growled. Mickey arched a brow.

“And you think that’s how you’re gonna get one?” He scoffed, chuckling darkly to himself. Ian rolled his eyes and ran a freckled hand through his hair, gathering himself.

“My point being, you have an awful lot of nerve harboring any sort of anger towards me, all things considered.”

“Bold of you to assume I give a shit about my life,” Mickey laughed. Gallagher’s brows furrowed, shocked. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, shocking Ian Gallagher.

His eyes trained on Mickey’s cigarette in his hand, and Mickey deliberately, tauntingly raised it back to his lips to suck in a lungful of nicotine-infused smoke. Ian merely nodded to himself.

“You should.” Mickey’s brows furrowed in question. “Care, I mean.” Ian clarified. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, good talk, man. You want to avoid being my friend one of the first tips I’ve got for you is to stop acting like you give a shit,” Mickey remarked snarkily. Ian nodded again and rubbed absently at his jawline with the tips of his fingers.

"Guess I'll get right on that," Gallagher mumbled. But he didn't turn to leave.so Mickey raised his brows, widening his eyes the slightest bit for emphasis. Gallagher made it look like it pained him to respond to that sort of gesture, but he did indeed turn around, leaving Mickey to his quiet and his nicotine.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to tip your fanfic writer, we accept kudos and constructive comments!


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